Violet eyes
by Sandry of Ruatha
Summary: Alanna goes to the convent, and is betrothed to Gareth the younger. She flys into a rage (surprise, surprise!) but will she find love in Corus? And when strangers arrive in Tortall, will any of them come out of it the same? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Lioness Rampant

Disclaimer: I own everything. I am Tamora Pierce. Bow down to me. *not*  
  
A/n: This is an Alanna goes to the convent story, the characters are probably all going to be either OOC, Mary-sues or both, but hey, live with it. I'm a sad person and I don't have a life.  
  
Alanna of Trebond, known to her exclusive circle of friends as the Lioness for her red her and fierce temper, was living up to her nickname. She strode up and down the room she shared with her closest friend, Cythera, her face nearly as fiery as her elegantly styled mane. Her violet eyes were dancing, hissing with a look Cythera knew only too well. The letter that had arrived that morning was still clenched in her hand, crumpled and stained with the tears of rage Alanna had wept over it. Cythera barely knew how to comfort Alanna right now, mostly because she was afraid even to speak to her-the Lioness was not famous for rationalising when she was in a mood.  
  
"I can't believe father is doing this." She spat out now, making Cythera jump back in fright. "You'd have thought that sending me here, neglecting me, forgetting my nameday- " Cythera winced with the memory of that particular rage "-now he's betrothed me to some stupid noble who's probably a desk knight like his father, never fought a battle with his life except with his nurse-"  
  
"Neither have you," Cythera pointed out matter-of-factly, unable to hold her tongue at this hypocrisy.  
  
"Yes, but that's not exactly my fault, is it?"  
  
"He is the son of one of the most important men in the realm, Aly." Cythera reminded her soothingly. "Naxen is a great name at court, and I don't think he is a desk knight. Doesn't it say in the letter that he's one of the best fighters at court? Certainly his father is. I don't know where you get your ideas from!"  
  
Alanna, furious that her friend made so much sense, slumped down suddenly on the bed, the wind taken out of her sails, her momentum lost. Ever since the letter had arrived that morning from her father, telling her to present herself at Corus within the month to meet her betrothed, Gareth of Naxen the Younger, she had been raging at life, the universe, and everything. Cythera sighed with relief that she had finally quietened down.  
  
"That's better, Aly. You never know, you might like him... You might fall in love..."  
  
That was Cythera, always lost in her dreams of romance and grandeur. Alanna, more practical, just wrinkled her nose. "I bet he smells bad." Chuckling, Cythera chucked a pillow at her friend. Growling with mock anger, the Lioness jumped on her roommate with another pillow and started ferociously attacking her with the deadly weapon. Before long there were feathers everywhere, the laughter was echoing down the hall, and all thoughts of Corus, Gareth of Naxen, and betrothals were tossed away as fading echoes on the wind. 


	2. Chapter 2: Partners in crime

Chapter 2! Please, please, please R & R!  
  
Disclaimer: Now I understand why everyone hates these so much. I am not Tamora Pierce. If I was, Jon would have died in the first paragraph and George would have become King.  
  
Lilliana-Rose: *blushes* Thank you! I don't know why my name wasn't on there, probably a glitch in the system.  
  
The two girls were sitting in front of the Mother Superior (a/n I can't remember her proper title, this will have to do) looking very solemn but laughing away underneath their good-girl masks. The Mother was looking down severely at them, her piercing gaze sliding down her hawkish nose and connecting sharply with the faces of the blushing teenagers. Alanna risked a glance around her at the office she knew only too well: the neutral cream walls, the shrine to the Mother Goddess, and the hard-backed, stiff oak chairs that, with the desk, were the only furniture. There were no personal touches, no hint of personality. Once, when she and Cythera had been left alone in here, Alanna had peeked into the desk drawers-even there there were only files, papers, and bills, nothing to show that the person whose office this was was anything more then an accountant. When the Mother Superior spoke, the voice matched everything else about her: stern, severe and unrelenting.  
  
"I cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe that the week before you leave for Corus, you would disgrace the entire convent in this unladylike fashion. It is disgraceful. I would have thought that after seven years with us you persist in these despicable, shameful ways. Alanna," and now the full fury of her intense glare was turned on the redhead, "Don't you understand you are going to be married to one of the most important young warriors at court? Don't you realise that the entire reputation of the convent rests upon your shoulders? Does it mean nothing to you that..."  
  
And so it went on, and on, and on. Alanna drifted off into one of her stored-up daydreams of being a warrior, Cythera into one of hers about romance and court. They didn't bother paying attention during these all-too- frequent sessions: the Mother Superior was the kind of person who vocally italicised every other word, even the unimportant ones. Besides, they had heard this speech, or its identical twins, every week since their arrival.  
  
"...and besides, the court will be expecting you to know... Alanna, Cythera, are you even listening to me?" This last was delivered in exactly the same tones as the rest, and neither one of the girls responded. Looking primed for impending explosion, the Mother Superior snapped.  
  
"That is enough!"  
  
The two heads, one dark, one coppery, jerked up in perfect unison. The two sets of eyes, one green, one violet, blinked hurriedly in a desperate attempt to re-orientate themselves with the real world. The Mother Superior swelled up in righteous indignation. Breathing deeply in a last-ditch attempt to control herself, she rumbled in a voice more like a volcano then anything either of the girls had ever heard, "Alanna! Cythera! You two are going to Corus next week and you ARE going to bring honour to the convent, if I have to knock it into you myself!"  
  
That woke them up fast enough. Timidly, Cythera raised one perfectly manicured hand.  
  
"Us two, Mother?"  
  
"Are you a parrot, Cythera? No? Then why do you imitate one by repeating everything I say? Are you suggesting, perhaps, that I am incapable of counting?"  
  
That was the Mother all over, determined to think the worst. Cythera was about to roll her eyes, but thought better of it at the last minute.  
  
"I said you two and I meant it! I refuse to have you in this convent for one moment longer, either of you! Much as I regret letting you loose on Corus," She raised her eyes heavenward, "The court is far better equipped to deal with you then I. And I wish them joy of you! Out of my sight, both of you, now! And if I hear one whisper out of you between now and next week I will personally seal your mouths!"  
  
But the two girls were oblivious to this last threat, for they had already fled the building, their cries of jubilation echoing over the stony courtyard. 


	3. Chapter 3: Coachride to Corus

Disclaimer: No, I'm not Tamora Pierce... I'm Tolkien, risen from the grave! Bow down to me! Hah, ha, very funny. Come off it, Tammy doesn't even read fanfics, why do I have to write these stupid things?  
  
A/n: If I don't get some more reviewers I may be forced to stop. I don't want to do that, so please, please R & R! Also I'm inclined towards short chapters very often, but if you guys prefer long chapters less frequently, that's cool. It's up to you.  
  
Alanna and Cythera were sitting huddled together on one side of the lavish coach, trying to withstand the fierce cold that penetrated the fancy but impractical hangings. The coach shuddered over the uneven track on the way to Corus, one of the few that had not been restored.  
  
"I swear," Muttered the lioness grimly, "Even Corus sounds good compared to this. How much further is it, anyway?" Alanna had never really paid much attention in Geography classes, mainly because the priestess who taught it was so infinitely boring that she almost rivalled the Mother Superior. Cythera shrugged in reply, the droplets of rain that were finding a way into the coach and onto her face making her grumpy.  
  
"How can I tell how far it is when I don't even know where we are?" She enquired miserably, shoulders sagging. Patting her friend's shoulder awkwardly, Alanna slipped her wet slippers off and sprung nimbly onto the opposite seat. Opening the hatch and sticking her head out, she yelled n a voice that would have made any of her teachers wince:  
  
"Oi!"  
  
The coachman didn't hear her over the rage of the storm. Below her, Alanna could just make out Cythera's shocked voice.  
  
"Aly! You'll catch pleuro-pneumonia!"  
  
Alanna shrugged. She didn't even know what pleuro-pneumonia was, and quite frankly she wasn't that bothered. She vaguely remembered something from her Gift Healing sessions, but since those lessons always made her use her Gift she had hated them, though she excelled at the practical, and had never paid much attention. In fact, Alanna had never paid much attention to any of her lessons. She tried again, louder this time.  
  
"OI!"  
  
This time the coachman heard her, and, reining in the horses, turned to face her, a look of wary respect on his craggy face. In the several hours they had been travelling, he had already learnt there was something odd about his two passengers, and quite frankly he wanted to stay away from them as much as possible.  
  
"My lady?"  
  
"How long till we get to Corus?" Alanna requested. It would have been a very pretty request, too, but she was forced to scream it over the storm. In the carriage below, Cythera rolled her eyes.  
  
"Why, milady, we're coming up to it. Shouldn't be more'n half an hour, 'less the roads get flooded." 


	4. Chapter 4: Corus and carriages

Alanna drew back one of the window hangings tentatively. When she saw the scene that awaited them outside, she wished she hadn't. The wet courtyard the had drawn up in was so brightly painted, the houses crammed in with no spaces as though they, too, were huddling together for warmth. The gaudiness of the square was so overwhelming that Alanna had to suppress the urge to cover her eyes. Cythera wiggled into the spae between Alanna and the carriage wall, to get a peek out into thecourtyard. She let out an appreciative whistle.  
  
"Bright, huh?"  
  
Alanna absent-mindedly swatted at her friend, who chortled and ducked the hand, returning to her place at the window. The two girls looked around in amazement, and were so absorbed in the scene that when the door was opened, Alanna, with Cythera leaning on her, literally fell out.  
  
Alanna looked up at the sky, which was grey, and glared at it as though daring it to comment. Cythera was rolling over with laughter, and even the footman was trying to suppress his chuckles. Straightening his facer, he murmured apologetically,  
  
"Sorry, milady."  
  
Alanna gave him a look like a ruffled owl, and, seizing Cythera's hand, pulled herself up from the wet cobbles. Cythera grinned at her so infectiously that the Lioness' anger disspaated, and she only looked rueful.  
  
"I was asking for that, wasn't I?" She enquired with a semblance of humbleness.  
  
"Yup." Agreed Cythera cheerfully. Alanna mock-glared at her.  
  
"You're not supposed to agree with me! You're supposed to say, oh, no, Aly dear, it was a cruel and undeserved trick of fate."  
  
"But, Aly dear," Cythera replied impishly, "I would never dream of disagreeing with you."  
  
Alanna groaned, swatting at her friend for the second time in as many minutes.  
  
"What a start to my time in Corus." The redhead moaned in a self-pitying tone.  
  
"Well, at least you've started as you mean to go on," pointed out her irrepressible friend. "Be thankful you haven't been lulled into a false sense of security. You might have been tricked into thinking that someone up there liked you, only to be tragically betrayed by your assumed protector in your hour of fatal need..." Cythera clutched her heart dramatically, a look of tragic betrayal and melodramatic pain on her finely sculpted features. Alanna snorted.  
  
"You look like you're constipated, 'Thera."  
  
Unfortuanately, they had no time to ruminate on this pleasant subject, because even as Alanna spoke, there drew up an elegant carriage to take them to the palace itself, and Alanna's future husband.  
  
A/n: YES! I'm going to drag out your misery as long as possible! Nah, don't worry, Gary enters in the next chapter. By the way, I know Cythera was a little OOC in the last chapter, so I tried to make up for it here. Although I Know this chapter wasn't as good, the next one should be great. 


	5. Chapter 5: Men have feelings too

Disclaimer: Right, following a flash of inspiration, this is a disclaimer for not only this chapter but the entire story. This means I get to stop writing these dum things. Huzzah! ;)  
  
A/n: Thank you to all my reviewers, and thanks for the advice! I'm not going to reply to all of you individually, because it bugs me when other people do that and I don't want to be hypocritical, but I will say that this fic is almost certainly have some Alanna/Gary in it, though it probably won't be the main pairing. We'll see. I'm thinking three chapters before the big plot is revealed. ;) I know, I know, I'm cruel. Oh, and the new title? The significance will (hopefully!) Become apparent.  
  
Gareth of Naxen the Younger was rubbing his temples in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hair was flopping over his eyes, and he dashed it away irritable, closing his eyelids. His face was red, and there was a definite tension hovering for a good five foot radius around him. He was so absorbed in trying not to hit something- a most demanding task- that he didn't even notice the Prince squatting down beside him.  
  
"I wonder if it's possible to erode your own brains out." Jonathon said to a bird that hovered nearby. The sparrow let out an enquiring cheep, making Jon chuckle before he continued. "Not that it'd be too hard with you, Gary, if you don't even have enough that all you can do on a day like this is sit in a courtyard and scrub at your own head like that."  
  
Gary opened his eyes and scowled.  
  
"She's arriving today."  
  
Jon didn't have to ask who She was- Gary had only been moaning about her from the day his father had told him about his engagement. Gary spoke again.  
  
"It had to be her, didn't it? A bloody Trebond. Mithros, father knows how much I hate her lot..."  
  
Jon stood up quickly, springing away like a baited bear, eyes flashing.  
  
"You don't even know the girl! She might be different! You're not even giving her a chance!"  
  
"I don't need to, Jonathon! They're twins! How different from her brother can she be?"  
  
Jon's hands came instinctively to her forehead, and then dropped as her remembered his own taunts about that habit. The problem was that he didn't really believe what he was saying. Thom of Trebond was a loner, obsessed with his Gift, spending all his time alone in his rooms. Several times Numair had complained that the boy's antics had disrupted his spells, sucking out all the magic from them, until the Great mage started putting wards round his work. Thom had no friends, was snappy and disruptive, and couldn't fight to save his life. It was hard to imagine any twin of his could be much different. And they said she shared his eyes...  
  
He had no more time to ruminate, though, because before he could finish his mental sentence it was disrupted by the noise of a carriage arriving. Gary lurched to his feet, his face pale. Jon fled.  
  
"Deserter!" Gary called out to his retreating back in a muffled voice, before turning to face his doom... A red-haired, violet-eyed doom. 


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting

A/n: A bit longer this time. Huzzah, I'm so nice. Thanks to all you reviewers! *waves* Now, I'm going to give y'all a little spoiler. This fic is going to be an Alanna/Gary, but the main pairing is going to be a Jon/?. And no, the ? is not an OC. Nor is it Alanna. Don't bother guessing, you'll never get it. All will become clear. In about seven chapter's time. *cackles* Oh, and George and Thayet do not exist at all in this thick, or at least I don't think George will be. We'll have to see.  
  
Alanna grabbed Cythera's wrist in a vicelike grip as she daintily stepped out of the carriage, just as she had been taught. She had to stifle a laugh at the memory of the endless afternoons the Sisters had spent trying to teach her to do it properly. Cythera, on the other hand, was trying to stifle a yelp of pain from her wrist, which had had its circulation cut completely destroyed. The two screwed-up expressions were too much for Gary, who promptly completed the trio by suppressing his own roar of amusement. Trying to keep a straight face and, like the other two, failing utterly, he stepped forward stiffly and bowed from the waist, taking Alanna's hand to his lips. He smiled mentally as he remembered the long hours the priests had spent trying to teach him to do that properly. However, all traces of amusement vanished from both Alanna and Gary's faces as his lips brushed her hand, callused from hours of what the Sisters called 'unladylike labours' but what Alanna called weapons practice, sadly all too rare from her point of view. It came back to them both that they were meeting their dreaded betrothed, and Alanna dropped Cythera's hand, much to her relief. Gary, resigned to his fate of death by courtship, spoke the first words.  
  
"Lady Alanna, Lady Cythera, I hope you will enjoy your time here. If you would like to follow me, I will take you up to the palace proper. You have been given adjoining rooms, I believe. Lady Alanna, you're brother will be in the squires' wing, should you wish to visit him."  
  
Bowing again, he turned around, biting his tongue. It was true, she did have his eyes. And his face. And his hair. In fact, she looked exactly like him. Gary suppressed a shudder, and realised he seemed to be suppressing a lot of things today. Suppressing a resigned sigh, and adding one more to the list, he was flooded with depression. He wasn't too optimistic about the rest of his life.  
  
Behind him, Alanna exchanged glances with Cythera, wrinkling her nose. If this was the face of her future, she felt like giving it a slap. Shaking her head in a defeatist manner, she tapped Gary on the shoulder. The young man whirled round, startled.  
  
"My Lady?"  
  
"My Lord Gareth, I wonder if you could tell me: is my brother well? I have not heard from him in... a very long time." She bit her lip, berating herself for nearly letting slip that she had not heard from her brother at all since they had both left Trebond.  
  
"Certainly, my lady. To the best of my knowledge your brother is well, and I know that he excels at the class for the Gifted. That is about all I have heard of him, we do not know each other well." A lie, but he wasn't going to tell his betrothed that he loathed her brother. "My lady, I beg you, call me Gary. I cannot stand my given name."  
  
Giving the tiniest of curtsies, Alanna grinned.  
  
"Only if you call me Alanna"  
  
Cythera grinned to herself. This was going to be romantic. 


	7. Chapter 7: Soothing nonsense

A/n: Look, people! This is going to be an Alanna/Gary fic, that is that! I get sick and tired of all these A/j and a/George fics, and this is going to be done my way, as I have already said. I'm sorry, but there are plenty of those around already. Pleuropneumonia is real; I just added a hyphen for no reason whatsoever. Meh. And I reserve my right to call Alanna whatever I choose, because I don't think she could have survived with a name like that and not have it shortened, and Aly seemed the most likely thing, although Tammy uses it for something different. And I called her the Lioness because I also think it's a nickname that could be reasonably given, and because I liked the idea that the name was intrinsic in her personality and no just inflicted by her shield.  
  
Alanna collapsed on her luxurious bed, totally exhausted by the travels of the day. She yanked the various blankets and quilts unceremoniously into a suitable position around her soaking body, and snuggled her head into her pillow, consciously filling her mind with the simple patterns of the few simple sword-dances she knew, the familiar rhythms of which she used to lull herself to sleep. She was just drifting off when Cythera burst in through the adjoining door- and then jumped on her friend.  
  
"Alanna!"  
  
Alanna groaned groggily and rolled over, grunting.  
  
"Go 'way, Cyth. 'M tired."  
  
But the offending maiden paid no attention, and carried on jumping on the Lioness.  
  
"Alannaaaa!"  
  
Rubbing her eyes blearily, Alanna sat up, leaning against the dark oak headboard, artistically carved with pictures of the Gods.  
  
"Whaddya want, Cyth?"  
  
Cythera rocked back, looking rather pleased with herself for succeeding in the normally impossible task of getting her friend back into the world of the sentient. Her eyes widened with anticipation of the pending explosion. Her mouth curled up in amusement.  
  
"Aly, the hunt's in an hour."  
  
Cythera was not disappointed. Alanna shrieked like a banshee and took off round the room, yelling for Cythera to help her. Throwing wide the doors of her wardrobe with no respect for its antiquity, she grabbed the first thing she saw that had less then three layers of frills and a wide enough skirt for her to ride in. It turned out to be a dark blue gown, simplistic and elegant, and by some freak of chance happened to be exactly the dress Cythera (who had a decent portion of dress sense) would have picked out. Alanna never found this out, because her friend was to busy howling with laughter to comment.  
  
The hunt was in pursuit of deer and other game, all harmless, so ladies were permitted to come if they so wished- very few of them did, of course, and no-one ever expected any to come along- but Alanna and Cythera insisted on attending. In no less then half an hour- an obscenely short time for two young ladies coming out- the duo were downstairs in the great hall and ready to go.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Corus had not cooled the Lioness temper. Alanna was fuming to Cythera as they rode slowly along, and her friend was well aware that only her restraint had prevented an explosion in the middle of the stables.  
  
"I can't believe they would do this!" The Lioness whispered savagely. "Do they thing we can't ride or something?"  
  
Cythera murmured soothing nonsense in the general direction of her friend. This latest tantrum was the result of being given to ancient, docile mares that could barely go faster then a limp. Mentally, the peaceful young girl sighed.  
  
It was going to be a loooooong stay. She would just have to amuse herself.  
  
A/n: I know I got slightly off-track with this scene, but I wanted to set the scene. Besides, I cannot disobey the plot bunnies. :0 


	8. Chapter 8: Great Mother Goddess

A/n: Sorry for the long delay! I had writers block, which is why I'm doing something slightly different with this chapter.  
  
The night was oppressive, smothering Tortall like a heavy velvet cloak, gently pierced in scattered places by glowing fires of starlight. There was no moon. Thousands of eyes, far below, tried in vain to penetrate its darkness. Little did they know that, free of the confines of the world, in the Realm above the sky, things were far from peaceful.  
  
In the elegant Chief Hall of the Pantheon, full of graceful, flowing lines in marble, and really rather clichéd, a loud and painful biting cackle rang out. All heads turned towards the Graveyard Hag, from whose cracked and toothless mouth the sound had issued. The wrinkled old crone had her wizened head thrown back, hysterical with amusement.  
  
"Are you... telling me..." She gasped out, amid fits of mirth, "That not... one of us can... oh, ha ha ha... tell what's going to happen to this, huh, chit of a girl? And we call ourselves... ha... Gods!" The Great Mother Goddess glared down from her imposing throne.  
  
"Silence! You know perfectly well why we can't tell what's going to happen. You were there when Shakith spoke, as we all were. Tell her again, if you please, Shakith."  
  
There was a murmur of interested agreement and heads swung towards Shakith, blind goddess of seers. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Shakith lifted her head.  
  
"Many years ago, there was a great divergence in the Fate of the world. The world we are in now, a I speak, went one way, but there was another way, and at this very moment there is another world which went down a different path back then. You all know how rare this is, and at the request of my friend Gainel-"the two inclined their heads at each other "-I investigated this further. It was centred on this girl of the violet eyes. It seemed the turning event, the fulcrum of the split, if you will, occurred when she went to study with the priestesses of our good Lady mother. I believe that another such split, another divergence, is approaching rapidly. The fate the world is ready to swing-in one direction or the other. And it is, again, centred on the violet eyed girl." Shakith bowed respectfully the Great Mother Goddess, who replied:  
  
"Thank you, Shakith; we are much indebted to you for your diligent study." Then, addressing the pantheon, "I too felt this shift, though I do not know why. I believe that in this other world, I had some connection with this Alanna, for I can think of no other reason. Did anyone else feel it?"  
  
Out of the shadows at the back of the hall, a figure emerged. A voice, deep and full of laughter, declaimed dramatically: "I did." More rustling and the shape became distinguishable as Kyprioth, the trickster god. Mithros frowned in distaste, but the Mother, with a disdainful wave of her hand, motioned the trickster to continue. "One of my Chosen, George Cooper-"  
  
Mithros sat up, glaring, ignoring the Goddess' restraining hand on his arm. "That thief?"  
  
Kyprioth grinned, unperturbed. "That's the one. I felt a huge shift in his fates at the time you spoke of."  
  
The Goddess glared at him. "Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
"You didn't ask." Kyprioth pointed out reasonably.  
  
The Goddess waved an angry hand. "Yes, yes, very good. Very well, we know what is happening. The question is, what do we do about it?"  
  
From her feet, a small black shape unwound itself, lazily, resolving into the shape of the cat faithful. Several minor gods rolled their eyes. That cat always had to have the last word. They were not disappointed.  
  
"What we do," Purred the cat, "Is nothing. The fates will shift; we cannot interfere, so there's no point arguing about it. Now, if nobody has anything else to say, I'm going to have a nap." And that is exactly what he did. 


	9. Chapter 9: Enter Thom, Centre Stage

A/n: Ok, I guess the last chapter warrants a slight explanation. The way it works is this: Generally, people do make choices, and they are independent, but the choices they make are already fated, predestined, know. That doesn't mean the choices are less independent, just that it is the only possible choice that can be made, given the situation and the personality and all the tiny details. Every decision, you see, is made for a reason, and any random events are sorted out by factoring fate. So these splits of the world are extremely rare, and are centred on special people-people like Alanna. Now, if you didn't understand a word of that, ignore it. And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...  
  
Lord Thom of Trebond strolled arrogantly down the corridor, three fat volumes held in the crook of one arm. His mind was immersed in the intricacies of his latest experiment, leaving his feet to navigate the empty hallway on their own. He was so deaf and blind to the world that he gasped in a most undignified fashion when he walked straight into the figure approaching from the opposite direction.  
  
Apoplectic with unjust rage, he started haranguing the figure in a low hiss, cursing with all his might. Dropping to the floor, he gathered up the scatted books-only to be knocked over by the mysterious stranger-who looked, much to his surprise, exactly like him.  
  
"THOM!"  
  
Thom blinked several times, attempting to get to grips with this out-of-the- blue change of events. Finally, he managed to emit a single, delighted word.  
  
"Aly?!"  
  
His sister hugged him tightly, nearly crying with happiness. "I haven't seen you for years! I missed you so much! Why didn't you write?"  
  
Suddenly going stiff, as if remembering where he was, Thom disentangled himself from his hysterical sister's arms. "I never had time. What are you doing here?"  
  
Alanna, likewise, went stiff. Her eyes narrowing, reverting to the anger she had felt on hearing the news for the first time, she hissed, "Engaged."  
  
Thom, far from uttering a cry of dismay, merely raised an eyebrow. "About time. Who to?"  
  
Alanna flinched, as though she had been hit. Shrinking back, she murmured quietly, softly, her voice hoarse with barely-restrained sobs of joy fast turning to anger, she replied: "Is that all you have to say, Thom? Just... Acceptance? Mithros knows I expected it from the girls at the convent, but you... You know I can't just marry like that, Thom. Or maybe you don't. I don't think I know you so well anymore." Turning, she fled as fast as her feet would carry her towards the always-deserted library, trying not to let her brother see her tears.  
  
Behind one of the closed doors that lined the corridor, Gary bit his lip. "Damn." He muttered, in an almost rueful tone. "I'd better go after her. D'you think we should have warned her?"  
  
Jon shook his head. "She wouldn't have listened, or she wouldn't have grasped it. Mithros, though..." He stopped, searching for words. Raoul chipped in in a dry voice, "We knew Thom was bad, but to his own twin sister?" Gary nodded, his face full of pain at Alanna's grief. "He never even iwrote? /i" Jon gave Gary a push. "What are you waiting for? Get out there and go after her!"  
  
A/n: Now, if I don't get at least one attack about making Thom an utter bastard, I will know for sure that nobody is reading this story. Look, that's how I felt he would be... And that's how he needs to be, to play his part in the Big Main Plot! Which hasn't even begun yet! Exciting, huh? Warning: Next chapter May Contain very slight Fluff. 


	10. Chapter 10: We call her the Lioness

A/n: A quick answer to pixiedust: For goodness' sakes! Alanna is human! She has emotions! She's not made of stone! All through the journey she's been excited about seeing her twin brother, who she loves so much, and now he just pushes her away. Of COURSE she cries. It doesn't mean she's a wimp. And yes, in ellabelle's words, Thom does have to be a moronic bastard for his (very crucial!) part in the plot. I've decided against any real fluff in this chappie, but here's what you get instead...  
  
Alanna slipped surreptitiously into the library, which was empty, just as she had predicted. Concealing herself in a back corner and grabbing a thick volume off the shelves to bury her face in, she let the tears run free.  
  
What has he turned into? She wondered silently, in the anguished emptiness of her mind. What have they done to him, to make him into this? Is he truly the same little boy I used to duck in the duck pond? Her thoughts were blurry, unconfined by the limits of mere words, but she felt betrayed more then anything. She felt stupid; she had been lying to herself so long... Pretending the letters had been stopped, or that he genuinely never had time to write... But no, clearly he had had 'better things to do'. Then there was the anger at her father for making Thom come here, for turning him into what he was... Hatred of their Gift for consuming him; and a terrible self- hatred for letting herself cry. But she could do nothing about it, and the tears streamed down her face unchecked.  
  
Gary approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her. She appeared to be in the middle of a huge volume on the Dark Age Rebellion in the south county Scanra- Gary was sceptical. He enquired cautiously-nervously, though he would never admit it- "My Lady?"  
  
Her head shot up; the book dropped to the floor with a crash. She went bright, bright red. "I wasn't crying," She snapped, trying to lie convincingly with only a half-second's notice, and being totally unsuccessful. "I was, uh, sweating. Yes. It's very hot in here. Is there a window? No, of course there isn't, we're in the middle of the Palace, how silly of me. That's why it's so hot. Which is why I was sweating. Yes. Um, absolutely." Now she was gabbling. In back of her mind, the infinitesimally tiny part of Alanna that was still sane groaned, and offered up a lifebelt. Alanna the Crazy pounced on it hungrily, wiping the tears from her eyes and breathing deeply. She could ger the rest of her crying done later.  
  
"Why did you call me Lady again? I distinctly remember telling you I hated the title. Call me Alanna before I have to beat you up." Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him. Gary threw his hands up in mock terror.  
  
"Alas! My fainting heart! I cannot refuse the command of so fierce and cruel a tyrant. Alanna it is." Returning to his normal stance, he continued in a normal voice, "So, we've gone and become friends now? Mithros forbid we should ever get to like each other! "  
  
Alanna wagged a finger under his nose, a crooked smile returning to her blotchy face. "Not a bit of it. My friends call me Aly."  
  
"Righto, fair lady, Aly it is!"  
  
"Oh, first I'm a tyrant, now I'm a lady again? Right! That does it! You're going to get thrashed!"  
  
Gary raised one sceptical eyebrow. "Oh yes?"  
  
Alanna threw down her hands. "Oh, alright, you got me. I can barely fight at all. For some reason they never taught us that at the convent. Did Thom..." She stopped, a lump caught in her throat. She continued determinedly, "Did he ever tell you he wanted to become a sorcerer, not a knight?"  
  
"Never in so many words," Gary replied dryly, "But we got the general idea."  
  
"Well, he did. I wanted to be the knight. We were going to switch places, but father found out. So I got convent duty, and Thom got all the fun."  
  
Gary was staggered. "Are you telling me you were going to sneak into the palace and demand they take you? I doubt, somehow, that that would have worked."  
  
"Not a bit of it. I was going to disguise myself as a boy; he was going to forge letters from father saying we were twin brothers. He would have gone to the Daughters to study sorcery, then to the Mithran Priests. But father caught us. All I could ever really manage to do at the convent was exercises-really basic ones for Sword and daggers- and archery practices, horse riding, that kind of thing. And not nearly enough of that. Ask Cythera. It nearly drove her mad."  
  
Gary collapsed into his chair. "You're not serious."  
  
"Deadly."  
  
"Great Mithros," He whistled slowly, exhaling. "That's amazing. And you kept it up?"  
  
Alanna nodded solemnly. "Always. It nearly drove me crazy sometimes, that I couldn't learn properly."  
  
Someone stepped out from the doorway where she had been standing unnoticed. "You nearly drove ME crazy, doing al those incessant exercises. She wasn't exaggerating." This last to Gary. "Morning, noon and night, it's sword, daggers, archery, kicks, punches. A warrior in the city, she skips class, runs away form the convent for as long as he stays and hangs around him until she learns everything he can teach her. She's insane. I've always said it. And she lied."  
  
Alanna spluttered at this, but Cythera continued inexorably.  
  
"We don't call her Aly, not when she's like this. We call her the Lioness."  
  
Gary looked at Alanna again, a strange expression in his eyes. He took a deep breath.  
  
"Would you like to learn?"  
  
Alanna blinked. So did Cythera. In fact, they blinked at exactly the same time. Then they looked at each other, and did it again. Then...  
  
"Properly?" Alanna was breathless with excitement. "You'd teach me how to fight properly?"  
  
Gary nodded. "Sure."  
  
About five minutes later, the librarian came and kicked them out of the library for incessant screaming with delight. 


	11. Chapter 11: Fights and Friendships

A/N: You know the weirdest thing? I had no idea I was going to have Gary teach Alanna until I found myself typing it. Ah, well. The plot bunnies must be obeyed. Glad you liked it. Oh, and by the way, the big plot begins in the next chapter, so don't lose track of this story out of boredom! And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU so much to all my reviewers, and to my school friend and fellow TP fan who I use to bounce ideas off and who shall remain nameless. (You know who you are!) Try not to embarrass me too much tomorrow in school! So, without any more ado, here you have it...  
  
Gary took a swig off water, grinning. He was having the time of his life. Alanna was really quite rubbish with a sword, but considering her circumstances she was brilliant, and she certainly had potential. It was a pleasure to teach her, especially after years of being the student. Now he had someone of his own to torture-except she seemed to be enjoying it even more then he was He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was standing with her head thrown back, hair tied up at the back of her head in a deep purple ribbon. It matches her eyes, Gary thought, smiling. For years he had hated those eyes, set into the face of her brother; now he was growing to enjoy the sight of them. They were threaded through with strands of pale lavender in the midday sun, out in the courtyard where they stood. It was solely for the purpose of sword training; instead of uneven cobblestones it was set with flat, smooth flagstones. She met his gaze evenly, a wicked expression in those innocent lamps.  
  
"Ready to try again?" She enquired, running a hand through her flaming hair. Gary groaned. He couldn't remember ever going through this stage.  
  
"Ready when you are, Lioness," He replied evenly, prepared to throw back every arrow aimed at him. He had learned very, very soon that making allowances for Alanna's Ladylike nature was NOT a good idea.  
  
She glared at him fiercely, bringing her sword up. Gary regarded it enviously. It was gorgeous, folded steel with the enamelled raven on the hilt that was the sign of Raven Armoury, finest in the land. According to Cythera, she had saved up all her-generous-allowance until she could get it, and she wouldn't settle for anything less then the best. Gary could probably afford a raven armoury sword himself, but he wasn't going to let himself blow his savings on one as fine a one as hers-much as he wanted to. Alanna followed his gaze down and chuckled. "Well, you shouldn't have any problems keeping your eye on my blade, at least! And don't call me Lioness!"  
  
"I should hope not, after eight years." Gary retorted, bringing his sword up to meet hers. "And Lioness is a title to be proud of. Certainly well- deserved enough, with that temper of yours. On guard."  
  
They continued sparring, Gary yelling at Alanna, Alanna cheerfully insulting Gary. Neither of them noticed that they were attracting a crowd.  
  
An hour or so later, when they both put down their swords, Alanna was ready to collapse. She grinned at her partner.  
  
"That was FUN!"  
  
Then she swayed, and sat down heavily on the bench. Emptying a waterskin over her head, she shook out the droplets like a wet dog, all the while smiling like a Cheshire cat. Gary raised his eyes heavenward in despair, throwing up his arms in supplication. "Mithros! I give up!"  
  
A dry voice from the other side of the courtyard remarked dryly, "Finally."  
  
Gary swerved, shocked, to see Jon, Raoul, Cythera, and a few other knights standing there. Raoul was in stitches. Jon, who had spoken, had a smile playing on his curved lips, and laughter dancing in his piercing eyes. Cythera was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring affectionately at the others.  
  
"What did I tell you? She's insane!" 


	12. Chapter 12: My gift to you guys

A/n: Ok, people! Here it is! The big one! And with any luck I hit the hundred-review mark on this! So anyone who reviews on this chapter gets extra brownie points (which eventually result in a cyber brownie, the ultimate in chocolaty goodness. Mmm. Oh, and about the Numair thing: I know, I know. *blushes* I hoped no-one would notice. The thing is, I need him for the plot. So deal. This is a fanfiction, after all. It doesn't have to be ACCURATE.  
  
Thom sat in his sparsely furnished, drab chambers, cradling his head in his hands. Unlike Alanna, whose hair was full of vibrant life, Thom's only seemed to reflect everything else about him-it never shone, but served merely as an anonymous and uninteresting cover for his head. His head, was, in fact, currently very frantic indeed; his thoughts were in turmoil. He had this nagging feeling that he should have been nicer to his sister, but he... It wasn't that he'd forgotten how to, that was impossible, but these days he knew only the theory and not the practice. He had lived with his guard up for too long, now it was innate in him. He kept trying to understand this, this terrible confusion in the hitherto sacrosanct privacy of his mind. The only place he could be himself, he thought bitterly, not knowing or not letting himself know how wrong he was.  
  
He stood up abruptly, as though trying to throw the unruly, undisciplined thoughts out of his head. Trying to focus on the familiar, he strode over to the table-one of the only pieces of furniture in the room-where the volumes were stacked. Muttering an opening-spell under his breath, he unlocked a draw in the same creaking oak as the rest of the table. It drew out slowly, Thom cursing at it. Within were a collection of crystals, throbbing with light-Thom had to speak another spell to shield his sight. He relied on spells for everything now. Using his body was a painful reminder of its inadequacy, its weakness where there should have been strength. His sister's strength. Although he knew in his logical, ordered mind that he ought to hate Alanna, he could not quite bring himself to do so. Even thinking of her was painful. That was why he had to act quickly. He had read every ancient work there was, most of which made mentions of love, so he knew the definition better then anybody, and he was increasingly suspicious that somewhere he might still love Alanna, a little. He was agonisingly aware that not all his emotions were yet under his control, another sign of weakness and lack of discipline. He despised himself, sometimes, and he loved himself-which was a contradiction, and needed to be sorted out. He shook his head wildly, like a dog shaking off water, and mumbled to himself, "Mind is everything. Mind is everything." It was a litany repeated daily, because Thom knew, he KNEW, that his mind was not weak. It was powerful, and it was capable. He could do this. He WOULD do this. And then, perhaps, he could rest for a while.  
  
He removed the crystals, one by one, and set them on the table. Taking the top one of the volumes, he leafed through it respectfully. This book was ancient, it had taken him months to assemble a spell to bypass his protections. He had been weak for months afterwards. Finding the page he needed, he traced down it, his finger reverently several inches from the page. He inhaled deeply as he found the spell, scripted in an ancient font. How long since other eyes had scanned this delicate page, other lips formed these sacred words before daring to speak them? And for sure the last man to try it would have been a Master. Ha! He would do it, though, and then they would have no choice but to train him! He felt the primal anger rise in him again, anger against his father, against his sister, even, and shoved it aside. He had no time for emotions today. Inhaling deeply, he began.  
  
He sucked out the power from the first crystal quickly-it was weak. Thom was not worried. But then the second burnt up, and the third-soon he would have to use his own Gift, and become part of the pattern. That was fair enough, though he had devoutly hoped in the coward's part of his mind that he would not have to. He entered it swiftly, with the ease and delicacy borne of long practice. The words came easily to him, no longer from the book, but from somewhere inside of him-as if they had been there always, only awaiting the slightest wavering brush of a thought from him to rise. He felt elated, as though every part of him was filled up with a golden light, spilling over so that the very air seemed to shiver with the feathery, untouchable happiness of a racing heart. Never had he felt so alive before. This was what had been denied him for so many years! This was his destiny!  
  
His power was running out. He knew it. It did not worry him. He did not know or care how to be worried, not in this golden state of joy. He called up more, from every link he knew-his sister had plenty, she would not miss it. He pulled her power, all of it, into the pattern after him, neither knowing, understanding nor caring what it meant. He would never care again. Still the word flowed out of his mouth, beautiful, perfect. They were part of him and he was part of them and everything, every beat of as butterfly wing or footfall of a silent wolf, everything was part of the pattern. He saw that now.  
  
Then the words ended, and Thom's world ended with them. The Spell of his life was over. He turned, and danced after the Black God, frozen in perfect, meaningless happiness forever. 


	13. Chapter 13 And the spell was

A/n: On reflection, that was a pretty evil ending, wasn't it? Mwah hah. Oh, well. This goes from where we left off in chapter eleven, but before we begin, I'd like to thank you guys so, so much for all the reviews! You're the best! Thank you to all my regulars, people like Lilliana-rose and ellabelle, who make me feel like I'm worth reading, and also to the one- offs, who take the time to be a wonderful person and review. It means so much to me!  
  
Gary rolled his eyes. "Yup, just my luck, I always get the crazy one!"  
  
This brought chuckles, and eyes turned to Alanna for one of the retorts they had come to enjoy and respect. Grinning at the group, she quickly changed to a mock glare for Gary. Pointing her sword at him dangerously, she proclaimed in a high falsetto, "Oh! My honour is insulted! I..." Her voice faltered. Her eyes widened. Her mouth shut, then gaped, mouthing desperate words. Then she slumped down in an awkward faint.  
  
Cythera gave a cry of horror and flew over to her friend's side. Raoul frowned. "You shouldn't have worked her so hard, Gary..."  
  
Cythera whipped around from where she was kneeling by the stricken Lioness. "It wasn't the worked that did this!" She cried, exasperated, a panic in her eyes. "Aly does worse then this every night. It's something magical!"  
  
Blanching, Gary reached out with his own Gift. (a/n: I don't actually know if he's Gifted, but in this story he is.) Alanna was draining, faster then the eye could see. She was rushing away, far, far too much of her... Gary grabbed the drooping, limp Aly and ran for her rooms. Raoul, tall and hulky, grabbed her off him. "What's happened?" He demanded, snapping with worry.  
  
Cythera, too, had reached out. Now she followed the stream of Alanna's gift, steady, powerful, showing no sign of running out, though it was seemingly inevitable. "I never knew she had so much," She murmured, awestruck. Shaking herself, she concentrated. Yanking herself back into reality, she screeched, "Thom's sucking it out of her, the bastard!"  
  
Raoul had already left, Alanna in his arms, for the palace healers; Cythera had followed, trying desperately to keep up, consumed with worry for her best friend. Gary groaned through gritted teeth. Taking off at a run, he sped towards the squire's wing. Jon flew towards his parent's state rooms, to alert them.  
  
When Gary reached Thom's roomed, they were already occupied. A tall, dark haired man-Numair, Gary realised-was standing there, shaking.  
  
"He's dead." Numair informed Gary curtly, no regret in his hard voice. "He was trying to do one of the Great spells."  
  
Gary sat down, hard, his face drawn. "Which one?" He enquired nervously, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.  
  
"K'ria Hav'zak, the Great Summoner. You won't have heard of it, it's not in the syllabus. No one's been fool enough to try it for centuries." Numair has to force the words out of a drawn face.  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
The cranelike man bowed his sharp head. Pointing downwards with a trembling hand, he muttered darkly, "That."  
  
On the ground were eight figures. Eight people, unmoving as statues.  
  
"They're alive, but only just," Numair continued, his voice full of grief and bitterness. "The spell calls to the greatest web of power it can find- a network of links which contains the most amount of power. It can call it up from anywhere, but I don't know even one occasion where the spell-worker has not died."  
  
Gary called up his voice from the fizzing and troubled mind. He felt no grief at Thom's passing, only anger, anger that he had tried to drag Alanna down with him. He stood abruptly. "I'm going to see Alanna."  
  
Numair nodded absent-mindedly. Scooping up the first o0f the figures, he sighed. "I'll come. I need to take these people to Baird anyway."  
  
A/n: Dun dun dun! Now, if somebody doesn't guess where this is going, I give up. 


	14. Chapter 14: And the people were

A/n: Ok, the last chapter was crap. I know, I know. I was having a 6-hour-long writer's block. Hopefully this will be slightly better, but I have to warn you, this story is about to take a really, really bizarre turn. Don't blame me if you don't like it. Unfortunately I'm still suffering from a lack of plot ideas, despite my yearning to write an Eomer-Lothiriel fic, and I have nothing better to do then write chapters of this at a frankly inhuman rate. Oh, and would anyone have an objection to a bit of Cythera/Raoul? I don't like loose characters. 

Alanna lay prone on the comfortable bed in the healers' wing, her coppery hair completely covering her pillow. Her eyes were wide open, but had a faraway look in them, as though watching something unfold in a different world. Gary, Raoul and Cythera were leaning over her anxiously; Duke Baird was sitting in a wicker chair facing the bed, his expression serious. Probing with his Gift, he lifted his weary head.

"Alanna will be fine, but only-and I will say this only once-ionly/i if you al go away right now. She needs her rest!"

The three jerked back quickly, falling over each other in their hurry to get away from the bed. Making a great show of tiptoeing gracefully across the room, Raoul moved towards the door. Gary followed, shaking his head with resignation at his friend's antics. Cythera was the last to leave, casting a backward glance over her shoulder. There were tears in her emerald eyes.

Shutting the door carefully behind her, Cythera brushed the tears away quickly with the back of her hand. Looking up at Gary, Cythera enquired softly, "Where are the people Numair found? I think we should visit them."

Gary nodded. "If you like… He took them through here."

Raoul and Cythera followed silently, their heads too full of thoughts to form them into words. The place Gary led them to was not far, not more then a few corridors away, but the journey seemed to last a thousand miles, and their feet seemed weary with the heaviness of their hearts when at last they reached it. Gary opened the door reverently, and the three slipped in. To their surprise, Numair ws there, looking shocked. He was sitting beside the bedside of one of the people, another tall man with a crooked nose and dark hair.

"Numair?" Gary enquired cautiously. "Is something wrong? Who is this man?" He, Raoul and Cythera ranged themselves around the bed. When Numair spoke, his throat was hoarse.

"Many, many years ago, I knew this man. He was-is- a mage, a great mage. We studied together, we were like brothers. When we finished our training, he left, travelled to the far East, and we lost all contact. I thought I had forgotten about him. I don't know what happened to him, or who the others are."

Cythera knelt gracefully by the bed and placed a hand on the man's head. His eyes were clear amber, shining with a delicate hint of gold.

"What's his name?" Enquired Raoul, coming over and putting a hand on Cythera's shoulder. 

"When I last saw him, he had just claimed his mage's name…" Numair began, trailing off in nostalgia. Raoul rolled his eyes. 

"Which was?" He prompted helpfully.

"He called himself Niklaren Goldeye."

A/n: Dun dun dun! Now, was that random or not? Mwah hah! Ok, I give you all permission to slowly torture me to death. Oh wait, no I don't. Ooops. Too late. 


	15. Chapter 15: The Lady and the Lioness

A/n: Thank-you to all my reviewers, yet again! Now, I KNOW it was very random of me, but at least it made you guys pay attention. Ellabelle, don't worry; Niko won't be a main character… But one of them will be! Cythera/Raoul is ok? Good, good. And to whoever asked, no, Jon isn't going to be unattached. 

Alanna was sitting up now, settled in a threadbare armchair with her head on her shoulder. She was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally; she had literally no energy, no Gift, and her face was covered with the staining trails of bitter tears shed over her brother. She was seated by the bedside of one of the 'new arrivals', a girl about her own age with huge, blue eyes, rich chestnut hair and a nose so tiny it should have been illegal. Alanna raised a weary hand to rub her own nose wistfully. The girl was wearing a simple tan gown, but Alanna was not deceived; the material was rich. She, and the other seven of her companions, they were mysteries. All they could tell was that they had magic, strong magic-or so Numair said, anyway.  Her mind drifted back to the conversation she had had with the tall man that morning, when she had done her crying. She had wanted to get her mind off things, but Duke Baird, trying to coddle her, had insisted she could not get up. Alanna grinned ruefully. Even being carried from that room to this had tired her. Duke Baird probably had a point. So now she was assigned to watching the other invalids for any signs of life. They were fascinating. There were four adults and four children. Aly was most interested in the children. 

_I shouldn't call them children,_ Alanna thought, grinning, _they must be only a year or so younger then me. _But she could not help it; the four looked so vulnerable, unconscious, that Alanna found it impossible to think of them as equals. Her eyes strayed to the Big black man and girl they had captivated her for quite a while. Their skin was so dark… Of course, Alanna _knew _there were people like that, but seeing one, actually _seeing _one, was different. And the girl had a metal hand, which was just _too _odd. Alanna was dying for one of them to wake up, so she could plague them with questions, but she amused herself by trying to decide which was stranger; the black girl's hand, or the boy's. The black girl had a metal hand-magical metal, no less-but the boy had _moving vine tattoos._ They _grew. _Alanna decided they had to take the prize.

She was absorbed in her next competition- who had the stranger eyes, herself or Niklaren- when hers caught a movement out of their corners. Her head swerved around and down, it's former weariness forgotten. The girl with the blue eyes and the rich gown was stirring, very slightly.  Alanna placed a hand on her forehead, trying to reach her with her own Gift-then stopped and swayed, realising she didn't have any. And another week till she got it back! 

She didn't have to worry; the girl sat up of her own accord, bolt upright. She glanced around her, Alanna hiding a grin. _Definitely a noble, _she decided, _wit ha look like that. _

The girl seemed to notice Alanna at last. She grinned, rather shakily. 

"Oh. I've gone mad at last."

Her voice was rather nice, really; quite melodious. Alanna decided she liked the strange noble. 

"No more then the rest of us, though that's not saying much." The redhead replied, with a slight chuckle. The noble smiled faintly in reply, only to knock of Alanna's grin completely with her next statement.

"My name's Sandrilene fa Toren, and trust me, you _don't _want to hear the titles."

Alanna blinked. "Try me," She challenged. The girl couldn't exactly be royal, with a simple gown like that. This would be amusi… 

The girl cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. "You asked for it," She warned, eyes sparkling and full of vitality. Her voice seemed to change, and she began rallying off a list of titles.

"I am Sandrilene fa Toren, daughter of Count Mattin fer Toren and his countess, Amiliane fa Landreg. I am the great-niece of his grace, Duke Vedris, supreme ruler of the realm of Emelan, and first cousin to her Most Imperial Highness, Empress Berenene of the Namornese Empire. Third in line to the throne of Emelan, fifth in line to the throne of Namorn, the third cousin of his Majesty the king of Capchen…" 

She trailed away, flushed, leaning back. "Do you want me to continue?" She asked, one eyebrow raised. 

Alanna went bright pink. "Uh, that'll do, thank you." She mumbled. Sandry flashed her teeth cheerily. 

"Good, because I've forgotten the rest. Anyway, call me Sandry."

"Aly. Short for Alanna."

Sandry smiled appreciatively. "Nice name." Looking around her again, she continued in a rather mild voice, 

  
"Would you mind terribly telling me where on the circle sea I AM?"

. 


	16. Chapter 16: Who the hell ARE all these p...

A/n: Right, sorry if anyone's OOC! Now, votes for and against George and Briar meeting? 

After a great deal of confusion, Sandry had just about sorted out her position in the time-space continuum, and was now introducing her still unconscious companions to an entranced Alanna. It wasn't easy.

Sandry sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look, let's start again. _This",_ she pointed to the black girl, "is Daja Kisubo. She has smith-magic-" Sandry had already managed to explain ambient magic, all but unknown in these lands, "-and she's a trader. Her people died in a storm, Niko found her shipwrecked, and brought her to Winding Circle. Got that?" 

Alanna nodded mutely, putting a hand over her shaking mouth to prevent hysterics at Sandry's tone. The blue-eyed girl nodded, satisfied, and pointed to the redhead. Alanna eyed her with interest. She was inclined to like anyone who shared her hair colour.

"That's Tris." Sandry informed her calmly. "She's stubborn and aggravating and automatically hates everyone she meets, but don't let that stop you-" Alanna gagged with laughter at that "-she's a wonderful person. She has weather magic. _Her _family abandoned her because they thought she was possessed. Nobody but Niko saw her magic. He brought her to Winding Circle. Don't annoy her; she can kill you in about ten different ways in seconds. And whatever you do, don't untie the braids. Still with me?" Sandry rattled off quickly. 

"What would happen if I did untie…"

"Good. Right. The boy is Briar, a plant mage. He's a former thief. As far as we know, he's stopped." Alanna gaped slightly, but Sandry's monologue was inexorable.   
  
"Of course, he still steals plants all the time, but they ask him to, so it's not exactly the same thing…" At this, Alanna nearly fell of her chair. Sandry covered her mouth delicately, chuckling. There was laughter in her eyes.   
  


"I'm only _joking, _Aly! Now, the teachers generally have very boring life stories-" She dismissed the adults with a wave of her hand, "-So we'll save _their _tales for later. Would you like me to wake the others up now?" 

At this, Alanna _did _fall off her chair, very slowly, and backwards. She lay sprawled on the floor, glaring at Sandry. 

"That's not fair!" She protested reproachfully. Getting up, she folded her arms across her chest. "Anyway," she continued, "It's impossible. Even Numair can't do it." Sandry had already been informed about Numair. She giggled. Shutting her sapphire eyes tightly, more for Alanna's benefit then her own, she reached out with her mind, her mind touch sounding/feeling like rich, smooth silk. She grabbed the minds of the other three and shook them hard. 

"_Tris! Briar! Daja! Come ON!"_

The figures in the three other small beds stirred before Alanna's staring eye. One by one, they sat up. The Lioness sighed, dreamlike. 

"_You _can explain." She informed Sandry with a pitiful groan. "_I'm _going to sleep."

And so she did, right there on the floor, oblivious to the four children as they embraced, woke their respective teachers, and asked altogether, in what would have been Alanna's opinion had she had one, far too many questions. 


	17. Chapter 17: Friends meet friends

Rosethorn, Briar's teacher, placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her dangerous eyes. Without saying a word, she silenced the babbling room. The children all turned big, reproachful eyes on her. 

"Don't give me that look." She snapped, unperturbed, "I've known you lot for _years._ Now, Sandry, would you _please _explain where we are and what's going on?"

Sandry obeyed without a word. It as true, they had known Rosethorn for years-and learnt very, very quickly to respect her. When she was finished, Niko's amber eyes were shining. 

"Numair Salmalin!" He exclaimed, breathless. Sandry nodded. 

"Alanna said you knew him." The noble girl replied calmly. "Who is he?" 

Niko grinned. "Only the most powerful mage I've ever met!" This sent a murmur round the room. As far as they were concerned, Niko was the most powerful mage in the world. He chuckled at their discomfiture. "Where is he? I want to see him!"

Sandry shrugged.  "How am I supposed to know my way around this place? I'll wake Aly."

The copper-haired girl groaned when Sandry leant down impishly and blew in her ear.   
  
"Whaddyawant, Sandry?" 

Sandry grinned complacently. "We want to see Numair. Come on." She hauled Alanna up, with some difficulty, and after having to support her swaying form for a few moments, tipped a glass of water over her head.

Alanna blinked owlishly and pouted. "That was unnecessary. You've stained the carpet."

Sandry barely glanced down at it. "Eh. Tris, would you mind?"

The redhead growled, but acquiesced. Alanna watched, stunned, as moisture steamed out of the carpet and back into the glass. Tris released it there, and settled herself happily. Sandry nodded absentmindedly. "Thanks." 

Stunned, Alanna lead them slowly out of the door, only to be interrupted _again_, this time by Briar, the thief-boy. 

"This place is bigger then the Duke's Citadel! And the city must be twice as big as Summersea." This time it was Alanna's turn to shrug nonchalantly. 

"The Palace houses all the courtiers, most of the court, the pages, and has to have room for all the Knights, Squires, foreign dignitaries, ambassadors, visiting Nobles…" She recited dryly, doing a perfect imitation of a dry old priestess. Sandry giggled, and the Lioness continued, "Corus-that's the city-is the capital of Tortall and a centre of trade. It's a big country." She had lead them through a maze of corridors, and they had arrived at Numair's chambers. Niko hurried in, accompanied by Tris, but the others stayed outside. The black girl, Daja, spoke at last. 

"They'll be I there for hours." She offered calmly. "The rest of us are uninterested. Would you do us the honour of showing us around this place?" Daja spoke formally, but there was pleading in her eyes. Aly smiled. 

"A pleasure." She agreed readily. She liked entertaining guests on her own territory; it gave you the upper hand.  "Shall we go to the Knight's wing? It's where the squires, knights and pages live. I'd like you to meet my friends."

When they arrived, they were greeted by a hectic Cythera who flung her arms around Alanna. 

"Aly! We thought you were still unconscious!" 

"I was." The Lioness replied, groaning. "Sandry woke me up." 

Cythera blinked. "Sandry?" She enquired helplessly. Sandry stepped forwards and raised her hand.

"Guilty as charged." She admitted cheerily. "You must be Cythera. Aly mentioned to you."

Impulsively, Cythera stepped forward an hugged the stranger, who took it in her stride and grinned. Retreating a pace, Sandry gestured towards the others. "Daja, Briar, Lark, Rosethorn and Frostpine, my friends and teachers. We were caught up in a spell, or something. Aly was going to show us round the palace." 

Alanna nodded and muttered into Cythera's ear. "They're all crazy and their Gifts are bizarre, but they seem nice. Give me a hand?" Cythera nodded enthusiastically. 

"Right," said Alanna, turning back to the group, "Whatever you do, follow me. Come on!"


	18. Chapter 18: Oh, shut up!

Cythera was busily chatting away to Daja and Sandry, just as Alanna had hoped she would. The Lioness was exhausted, her violet eyes threaded with a ghastly red and set in a too-pale face. It was much easier to let Cythera do her work for her and have some time to sort out her thoughts.

She found herself walking alongside the woman Sandry had introduced as Lark. _Nice name, _Alanna reflected mildly, _I wonder if she has a character to match? Sandry seemed to like her. _As though summoned by her very thoughts, Alanna felt a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she met the eyes of a smiling Lark. 

"Tired?" The Dedicate questioned gently. Alanna nodded, smiling. Lark beamed. "I can't blame you." The woman agreed, gesturing towards the others, engrossed in conversation. "That lot would wear out a stone wall."

Alanna blinked. From Sandry's description-rather hurried-this woman held the same sort of position as one of the Daughters, back at the convent, but she acted more a big sister or mother. _Lucky Sandry, _Alanna reflected enviously. 

There was a momentary lull in the conversation. Rosethorn's voice rang out, loud and clear. "Cythera, do you have any gardens in this place? I could do with some refreshment."

Cythera blinked and stared a little at this, but pulled herself up quickly, bristling at the inferred insult to the Palace. "Of course we have gardens!  Rose gardens, tulip gardens water gardens, herb gardens, wild gardens, orchards, berry gardens, vegetable gardens…" The monologue continued. Alanna shook her head. 

"Let me get this straight," She asked Lark in an exasperated voice, momentarily forgetting her age, "Rosethorn and Briar are plant mages who can talk to grass…"

"…And everything else that grows..." Lark added helpfully.

"…Yes, thank you… Daja and Frostpine are metal mages who can smell gold from ten metres…"

"…And all other metals."

"And you and Sandry…"

"Are thread mages, yes." Seeing Alanna's slightly confused look, she clarified, "Our power works through thread, spinning, weaving, carding, everything. Sandry can handle raw magic better then any of the others, because it's really just another kind of thread."

Alanna rolled her head on one side, thoughtfully. "Would you show me?" She asked, a little bashfully. Lark chuckled. 

"It would be a pleasure." Glancing around for something to do, she noticed a rip in Alanna's clothing which had not yet been mended. An impish look in her eyes, she pointed out to Alanna, who stared at it intently. Holding up a hand, Lark wove the threads into each other magically, creating a seamless mend before Alanna's very eyes. Seeing the expression on her face, Lark shrugged self-effacingly. "My magic's not flashy." She said apologetically. "You want Tris for that."

"That's alright," Alanna began, "I…" but she was cut off by a squeal from Cythera. Alanna whipped round. "Cyth, what is it?"

Her friend was frozen in a very dramatic position, eyes wide, a hand clapped to her mouth. The colour had drained from her cheeks, leaving her ashen grey. 

"Aly!" She wailed miserably. "It's the presentation ball tonight!"

A/N: Ooh! A ball! What WILL happen? Want to know really, really soon? Review! Thank you all so much for getting me to 150 so quickly on my first fic, it means so much to me. Y'all get cyber-brownies! Also, I do make a huge effort to read the stories of anyone who reviews, so there's something in it for you guys! 


	19. Chapter 19: A terrible fate of

Alanna examined her reflection in the mirror, searching for anything that could delay her entrance for another minute. She was wearing a midnight blue dress and a simple pearl pendant and earrings. She ran a hand through her elegantly-styled hair, her expression despairing. Daja poked her head round the door. 

"Remind me again why we have to be there?" The black girl enquired mildly, resplendent in a scarlet gown of Cythera's she had been bullied into. Alanna grinned. 

"If we have to suffer, so do you." The Lioness replied mercilessly. "And technically you _are _ladies to be presented."

Tris joined Daja at the door, in a turquoise gown also filched from Cythera's wardrobe. She looked grumpy. 

"Can we get this over with?" The merchant wanted to know. She looked nice, but a little out of place in the gorgeous setting. Alanna retreated. 

"Oh no! I'm not going out there until I have to!" She wailed. Daja chuckled and hauled her up from the bed where she had collapsed. 

"You don't have a choice, my friend." The trader informed her amiably. "After all, if we have to suffer, so do you."

At that moment, Sandry appeared, looking cheerful and absolutely stunning in a saffron gown. Alanna buried her face in her hands. 

"They're ganging up on me." She moaned miserably. "I'm doomed."

… At which Cythera promptly entered, grinning. Together, they frogmarched Alanna down the corridors and towards her terrible fate of death by dancing. 

There were quite a few ladies to be presented this year, and the line outside the Great Hall was comparatively long; around seventeen young ladies were waiting there. Most were chattering away in excitement, gossiping about the Lords, Palace scandals and fashions, and anything else they could lay their hands on to work their mouths with, but, slowly, the line wore down as one by one they were introduced to the Court. Alanna fled, only to be retrieved by a giggling Sandry. Before she could collect herself, the first set of doors were flung open, and the call came through for Alanna of Trebond, the first of their gang. 

A/N: Short, I know, but I had to go to bed! Long one tomorrow, promise! 


	20. Chapter 20: Descent

A/n: here it is, as promised! Not much to say, really… To who9ever asked, I don't mind if you use the basic idea (convent!Alanna=COM) As long as the plot is fairly different. 

The Great Hall was huge, almost like a gigantic cathedral with a domed roof. The main door was in the gallery which ran around the circumference of the dome, and was directly behind the staircase, which wound down the side of the room in a spiral, making a complete turn before reaching the floor. Once you got onto the ground, you walked straight forward and were presented to the Crown. Alanna knew the route by heart, although she had never seen the room; they had done it ten thousand times at the convent. She had no reason to be frightened. It was utterly illogical.

Right now, she wasn't winning any prizes for outstanding logic.

She had one hand demurely on the mahogany banister, gripping as tightly as she could without clinging on. She was terrified that she might fall over, or off the staircase altogether… It wouldn't surprise her. She never had been good at this kind of thing. 

She could feel the gaze of every single person in the hall upon her, some soft, considering glances, some downright glares. She tried desperately to remember everything she had been taught-tiny steps, posture correct, hands in the correct places- and failed utterly, having never paid any attention whatsoever in those classes. 

Gary watched intently as his betrothed descended the staircase, clad in a wonderfully stylish midnight blue dress. It flowed over her, folding in most all the right places, making her seem to walk _through _a cloud of pure darkness, shimmering gently in the centre. She wasn't, strictly speaking, as beautiful as some of the other ladies, but knowing her as he did, knowing that beneath the grace and elegance there was a spirit of fire… Gary couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't recall turning to follow her progress, but he must have done, because the next thing he knew, she was on the ground floor and approaching the king and queen. 

Roald spoke in his most imperial voice. Unfortunately, he had already done it ten or so times that night, so the effect was rather unimpressive.

"Who approaches?"

Alanna spoke in her court voice, the one she used at social occasions. "Alanna of Trebond."

"Who will vouch for her?"

There was a momentary silence. Thom was to have vouched for her, but he was hardly in a position to do so. It had become Gary's job. He gulped, and swallowed hard to wet his throat, then stepped forward.

"I, Gareth of Naxen the Younger, will vouch for my betrothed, Alanna of Trebond. Does any man question my right to speak?"

This was a formality only. Nobody ever spoke up. Roald nodded. 

"We welcome you, Alanna of Trebond. May you have much happiness and never leave us."

Alanna curtsied low and hurried off to stand nest to Gary. Smiling with relief, she murmured in his ear, "Thank the Mother _that's _over with."

A ripple of noise spread through the hall, and there was a moment of hubbub before the trumpets sounded again. Alanna raised her head defiantly, knowing the comments would be about her, for good or ill. Gary grinned at her stance, but his eyes were torn away by the fanfare announcing the next lady. There was a significant pause before the names were called. The herald, after all, had no idea who they were. But the man was adaptable. As it turned out, it was not one lady, but four. (The adults were already in the crowd somewhere, not being of marriageable age.)

"Lady Cythera of Elden, Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, Lady Daja Kisubo, and Lady Trisana Chandler…" The herald's voice was uncertain. He wasn't equipped for situations like this. Luckily, Cythera and Sandry were. They swept down the staircase together, the epitome of ladyhood, perfectly graceful and elegant. Alanna stifled a chuckle. _Trust that pair,_ she reflected. Daja and Tris followed, looking decent but rather odd. The noise in the hall grew again, murmurs of amazement at the black girl and the strange names. They were about to get some real shocks. 


	21. Chapter 21: Briar and George

A/n: Now, I promise I'll do the ball scene tomorrow, but tonight, I have writer's block! So instead, because something different gets my creative juices flowing, the George and Briar scene. Hey, you ask, you get. ;)

Briar had slipped out of the ball early. Sandry always dragged him along to these things, and he had long perfected the art of surreptitiously but _very quickly _getting out of them. Now he was roaming the streets of Corus.

Briar was a street rat by birth, and it was in his blood. Years of education in the temple had civilised him, but he would always, in some tiny part of himself, be a street rat, and he knew cities. You knew one, you knew them all. And he knew how they worked. In a big city full of alleys and a reasonable amount of crime like this one, there would always be those who didn't recognise the king, or his councillors, or any flouncy courtiers. But people needed guiding, ruling, they needed laws-even thieves and criminals. Briar wanted to know how the city _really _worked, and that meant finding out who was really running it. 

He was moving silently through the streets, his minded running overtime. Was that shadow a little to deep? Was that the wind, or was there somewhere behind him? E felt more alive then he had in months. Here, on the streets, life was simple. He knew what was going on. And he knew what was about to happen, because he could see a moving glint in that alley over there…

He was not disappointed. He let his guard down deliberately. He had to look like an easy target. Sure enough, in moments he could feel a knife point pricking his neck.

"Don't move a muscle," Murmured a soft, soothing voice. Briar grinned, and then flipped the man backwards over his head, gently. He didn't want to hurt him, after all. There was a muffled sound, somewhere between a scream and a gasp, and the figure in Briar's hand started writhing desperately. Briar forced him to the ground and put a knee on his chest. Glancing over the man quickly, the ex-rat nodded, satisfied. He hadn't lost his touch; the man had no more then a few bruises. 

"Listen up, an' listen good." Briar growled, softly, slipping back into street-slang. "I wanna' know how ya' get to the head guy in this city, an' I _don't _mean the guy in the palace. Right?"   

The man nodded mutely, and waited for Briar to give him permission to speak. He seemed to know how this worked. It had probably happened to him before. Briar slipped a knife out of one of his wrist-sheaths. He still carried them, despite all the protests of his teachers. Hauling the man up, he placed a knife at the back of his neck. "Go on." He muttered. "'member, one false move…"

The man didn't seem inclined to protest, but lead Briar through a winding maze of alleyways. Briar kept track. You learned fast on the streets never to trust anyone. It did not take long to reach their destination. Briar raised an eyebrow. It was an inn. This man must be important, if he can afford to have his quarters in an inn, he mused with newfound respect. He was going to enjoy this meeting. 

They slipped in through the front door. Briar noted with interest that it was creaked loudly-no doubt to give the people within due warning of the arrivals. Clever. 

The man wound his way through tables, Briar still behind him. They got a few funny glances, but no downright stares, which either meant that this happened often or that people in here didn't stare. Or both. The man lead Briar to a table right in the centre. A man was sitting in the shadows. 

Briar's guide whined, "Sire, this 'ere boy got me in the street. Said he wanted to talk to yer' majesty."

Briar's eyes opened wide. Nobody back home had ever managed to keep the title of king of the thieves for more then a few weeks; all the other gangs would, well, gang up on him. This man had to be good. 'His Majesty' lifted his head, and grinned. His voice was harsh, but not cruel.

"Ah, gettout, Poison. You get caught far too often. Stick to the assassinations." 

Despite himself, Briar chuckled. Most gang leaders would have killed the man-Poison-or at least hit him. This King was interesting. 

The King, indeed, gestured to a chair. "Sit down, lad. You wanted to see me?" 

 Briar nodded. "I'm new here," he explained, thinking fast, "And I wanted to know how this city was _really _run. How does it work? The gang system?"

The man shook his head, laughing. 

"Gangs! Inefficient. No gangs in Corus, not for years. I rule this city, my friend, or at least the shadowed side of it. This is the Court of the Rogue, as we call it. My title's King of the Rogue- you can call me George, mind- and I've more subjects in the city then anyone in the palace. Ay, but they don't bother with my realm, and I don't bother with theirs. Care for a drink?"

And, true to his title, George smiled roguishly, and ordered them both drinks.  


	22. Chapter 22: Jon and Sandry

Jon was _bored._ He had been doing this for about an hour now, and every single lady looked exactly the same. He really, really wasn't interested-not in marriage or anything, anyway. He had no aversion to dancing with the ladies, but he was supposed to be looking at potential brides here, and it wasn't exactly his favourite hobby. He was looking forward to watching Alanna descend, admitted, but then she wasn't always fluttering her fan and cooing like the rest of them. Jon snorted under his breath. Garry had no idea how lucky he was to get a sensible bride. 

At that moment, as though Jon's thoughts had been a premonition, Alanna walked in at the top of the staircase. She looked nice, elegant; a real contrast to the sword-swinging shield maiden they had seen a day or so ago. But that was Alanna all over; if she had had to go to the convent, she would at least have done it properly. She was walking rather faster then she had to-she probably wanted to get it over with. Jon couldn't blame her. Still, in no time at all she was approaching him and his parents, head held high. Jon flashed her a smile, which she returned, relieved. Jon pitied her. If this was bad for him, it had to be ten times worse for her. Jon would have thought she'd have run away, or something. Strange girl, Alanna. 

The vouching and acceptance ceremony went without a hitch, and Alanna retired to stand next to Gary. Hopefully, Jon glanced at his parents. Surely that was it… But the doors were flung open again. Damn. Jon swore silently and forced himself to pay attention to the names called by the herald. 

"Lady Cythera of Elden, Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, Lady Daja Kisubo, and Lady Trisana Chandler…" The herald sounded rather disconcerted. So was Jon. He had no idea who these people were, with the exception of Cythera, and he took daily classes in the nobility of the realm. Admittedly, he never paid much attention, but he was sure he would have remembered such strange names. And one of the girls was clearly not Tortallan- Daja, the herald had called her. Suddenly Jon was interested again. He watched, captivated, as the four girls descended. The pair at the back-Trisana and Daja? Jon wasn't sure-they didn't move like ladies, yet their friend walking with Cythera most definitely did. He was so busy wondering what in all the Realms was going on that he was taken by surprise when they arrived at the bottom. They approached slowly, the front two looking like angels and the back two looking odd. Alanna was grinning. 

The one walking beside Cythera, the stranger who acted like a lady, was the first to approach. Jon got a good look at her, and blinked, stunned. She was… astonishing. Her huge blue eyes were dancing, the light of a thousand candles shining out from her face. She looked like… elegance personified. She was the very picture of a noble maiden-except that those eyes were laughing. She was so different from anyone else in the room. _Every single part_ of her screamed out, Look at me, I'm beautiful. She curtsied gracefully to. Of course she did. Oh, Mithros. 

Roald was shaken too, but he spoke out just as usual. "Who approaches?"

"Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, high Lady of a foreign land." Well, that was obvious. 

"Who will vouch for her?"

Numair stepped forward, to much murmuring. I will speak for the student of my dear friend."

Jon was dimly aware of his father's acceptance, and the introduction of the others, but he didn't care. He was far too interested in the first one. 


	23. Chapter 23: Death by Dancing

Sandry was _bored. _I mean, it was interesting seeing the layout of the hall, and the different ways people were acting, but really… Been to one ball, been to them all, and Mila knew she had been to plenty of balls. They descended, just as Cythera and Sandry had been taught, heads held high; Sandry overheard a bemused Daja asking Tris, "Are all balls this boring?" 

All four of the girls giggled, glad for the release from tension. To Sandry's mild surprise and definite relief, the rest of the arduous journey down passed without event, or more specifically without any of them falling over. The presentation ceremony was familiar to the one standard in most courts; the only unusual thing was this whole idea of having somebody to vouch for you. Dangerous times, Sandry supposed. It was rather funny really; poor Numair had to vouch for all three of the girls from Emelan. At least he got a break with Cythera, who had got one of her relative to do it. Sandry watched with mild interest as all this happened, but she had slipped in to automatic Lady mode; she was the image of feminine nobility without actually thinking at all. Unfortunately, her friends hadn't got the knack of it. 

Luckily, they were the last of the Ladies to be introduced, so they didn't have to wait for any more, but only had to put up with the fanfares to announce the beginning of the dances. Unluckily, the moment Daja and Tris realised what was about to happen, they were clamouring at Sandry through their mind-link.

_Sandry! _Daja shrieked mentally. _I can't DANCE! _

Tris was in a panic too. _They never taught me how to dance at court! _ She wailed. Sandry winced. The mental combination of hot coals and lightening shrieking was not pleasant. She tried to soothe them. 

_Look, _she said calmly, _it's really not difficult…_

_SANDRY!_

_Oh, so you're not going to dance. You should have said. _ Sandry's mental voice was amused. _I think there's a balcony over there. _ She nodded her head casually to her left. _Try it. _

Muttering some intelligible excuses, the two girls made their escape. Sandry chuckled, making Alanna frown.

"What's so funny?" the violet-eyed girl enquired, curiously. Sandry shook her head. 

"Those two. They're running away form the prospect of death by dancing."

Alanna joined Sandry in the laughter. "I can't blame them, but how did you know…" She was interrupted by a young man who swept over to them. Glancing up at him, Sandry recognised the prince. Had she not had iron-self control at these events, her jaw would have dropped. Alanna smiled at him, performing the introductions.

"Jon, this is Sandry-Lady Sandrilene. I'll tell you what she told me- you don't want to know the titles." Alanna rolled her eyes appreciatively. "Sandry, this is Jon-Prince Jonathon of Tortall, heir to the throne." 

Jon bowed elegantly. "A pleasure, my Lady. Might I have the honour of this dance?" He smiled disarmingly, sheer charisma and charm shining out of his sapphire eyes. His features were regal, but kind; Sandry was intrigued. She curtsied perfectly. She had spent _hours_ getting that right. 

"It would be a pleasure, Sire." 


	24. Chapter 24: Alanna and Gary

A/n: Alanna/Gary, as requested.  I know, I know, I'm wonderful. ;) Alannawanabe; I suggest you reread the books! Sandry most definitely _does _have a mind of her own, and Jon and Tris would never get along.

Gary smiled at his fiancé, rolling his eyes. "I suppose we have to dance," he pointed out, mournfully. Alanna brought a hand up to her forehead as if stricken, imitating a melodramatic actor  

"Oh, no, sir!  I beg you, any torture but that!"

Gary played along, twirling an imaginary moustache. "Why, cruel villain that I am, I shall drag you onto the dance floor immediately. Come, fair lady!

Laughing, the two moved into the centre of the room. Placing one hand on Alanna's narrow waist and the other on her back, Gary led the delicate waltz. Together they swayed and stepped, moving in perfect time. They had both been trained for this for years, but neither of them had imagined such agreeable partners.

Alanna had just enough natural grace to be able to dance decently, and the years of intensive training at the convent had accentuated her natural ability. She hadn't really minded dancing lessons-at least you got to move around, unlike, say, needlework. And she would rather die then admit it to anyone except Cythera, but she _liked _to look pretty. So, against all odds, Alanna the fearsome Lioness was enjoying herself. She hardly noticed the music, responding the rhythm subconsciously and concentrating on the dancing.

Gary, too, was enjoying himself. He wasn't like Raoul, who couldn't stand dancing; he was quite capable of enjoying being on the floor with a beautiful young Lady, and as far as he was concerned, Alanna was definitely beautiful. Of course, knowing how amazing she was on the inside made her eyes shine all the brighter. They had been wasted on her brother.

Thinking of Thom made him tighten her grip on Alanna, almost as though he were trying to protect her against his ghost. To his surprise, she offered no resistance. Tentatively, he moved his hand up from her waist to cover his other one at the top of her back, bringing her in closer. She smiled delicately and relaxed against him, laying her head of brightly-burning hair onto his shoulder. And this the girl who not two days since had been fighting him like a... a Lioness in the courtyards. Mithros, but she was astonishing.

Alanna was feeling almost drowsy, like a content cat. She was letting her guard down at last, as she had not done since she had left the Convent. She made no protest when Gary pulled her in, but curled up against him. Tonight was a night for softness and peace. Why protest? Better Gary then any other man in the room.


	25. Chapter 25: The bad word

They were standing together on the balcony, Gary's arm round his betrothed's shoulder. She gave a little sigh of contentment, letting her gaze wander out across the stunning view of the city. Alanna couldn't remember feeling so peaceful since… well, ever. She no longer had to pretend to be somebody she wasn't, she was going to marry a man who she liked and would even _teach_ her to fight, and all of a sudden she had gained a host of new friends. She felt as though the last six years of her life had been wasted. Somehow it didn't seem strange that she was sharing this moment with Gary; she was even coming to terms with the marriage. She wondered, vaguely, what Cythera and her new foreign friends were doing inside. She smiled at the thought; Jon had seemed _very _smitten with Sandry…And hadn't she noticed Raoul bringing Cythera onto the floor? Strange, he had a reputation for hating that kind of thing… As for Tris and Daja, they had probably sneaked back to their rooms by now. Mithros knows how Sandry had got them there at all!

The band struck up a new tune, delicate, soft and gentle, more written for listening to then for dancing to. (A/n: Bach air quartet, people.) as though ti was the most natural thing in the world, Gary put a hand on Alanna's forehead and rubbed his thumb over the skin above her eyes. She grinned up at him; he returned the smile. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he drew her in again, until they stood side by side, brushing against each other. After a moment Gary said quietly,

"Alanna?"

The Lioness turned up again to meet his gaze. "Uh-huh?" She replied, with half her mind.

"About our marriage…"

_That _got her attention. He had said the forbidden word. They had an unspoken agreement never to talk about their betrothal. Alanna gulped, and nodded.

"Yes?" _Great line, Alanna. _

"I just wanted you to know… You can call it off if you want."

He waited, silently, for her answer, dreading what it might be. She considered his proposal seriously. He had thought she would.

"Why?" Her throat was so hoarse, it came out at just above a whisper, but Gary heard. He sat on the balcony rail with a sigh, and tried to articulate his scattered thoughts.

"I've seen you fight." He said at last. "And not just in the courtyard. I've seen the light that comes into your eyes when you talk sometimes, and I've seen you scream at your healers. I've seen you sit for hours by the bedside of a girl you'd never met, and I've seen you greet her and her friends with an overflowing heart. Sweet Mithros, Alanna, you're truly a lioness. What kind of a person would I be if I tried to cage that spirit, keep it locked up where it was full of sadness and grief? Truly, Aly, if you don't want to marry me, tell me now."

She was stunned. Silence reigned. Then, without looking at Gary or changing her tone at all, she murmured softly. "I'll marry you."  

Gary could hardly believe his ears. Cautiously slipping his hand under her chin, he forced her gaze up to meet his.

"Are you sure, Aly?"

She smiled weakly. "Gary, if I searched for a year I'd never find another man at court like you. You taught me to fight, and I'll never forget that. You have no idea how much that meant to me." There was the tiniest catch in her throat at these words. At last she met his eyes, and the smile blossomed across her face.

"Of course I'll marry you."


	26. Chapter 26: Couples

A/N: Right, the plan is some Raoul/Cythera now, next chapter some more Briar. Chapter after, something a little different. However, I won't be posting another chapter until Monday-I'm going up to the country. Sorry. :( Oh, and remember: TIME IS WARPED IN THIS STORY. DO NOT EXPECT TIME-RELATED ISSUES TO MAKE SENSE.

Cythera watched, amused, as Sandry and Alanna were led on to the dance floor, and Tris and Daja escaped the hall. Typical. By the mother, though, it looked like Alanna had learned something at the convent after all… Of course, she'd never be a natural like Sandry, but she looked beautiful anyway. She was busy analysing the look Jon was giving the noble from Emelan when she was floored by the giant figure of Raoul walking over to her, the smile on his face guaranteed to charm.

She smiled, inclining her head graciously at the young Knight. He grinned, and made a great show of kissing her hand, making them both laugh. Cythera grinned. Trust Raoul to bring a smile to anybody's face. His eyes dancing at her mirth, he bowed deeply, still putting up a show of being an affected courtier, and extended a callused hand.

"Will you honour my humble hand with yours in a dance, O Queen of my heart?"

Cythera batted her eyelashes and curtsied. "How can I refuse so noble a knight? Lead on, good saviour!"

They entered the floor together, still bantering.

"Good saviour? What did I save you from, then?"

"Ah, from the fearful dragon of monotonous boredom!"

"What, that old thing? Hah, it flees from my banner, the great fiend!"

Nobody noticed that they did not stop dancing when the song ended.

Sandry was much amused. Jon was whirling her around, clearly an expert, and she was keeping pace to perfection, spinning and turning and moving and twirling. It was something to see, truly; both the partners had been trained all their lives for just this eventuality. They were _good _at it. In fact, they were the centre of attention.

Despite the complexity of their dance, they were managing to keep up a conversation. Well, Jon was doing most of the talking.

"So you and your friends live at a temple? Are you dedicates, or novices?" He hoped not. Most Dedicates couldn't marry. Sandry tried to explain.

"Winding Circle isn't just a temple, it's a school. My friends and I are mages, ambient mages. We were brought there when we were ten, and we've been there ever since."

"Ambient mages?" Mithros, he must sound stupid. He could have sworn somebody had mentioned them to him once…

Sandry sighed patiently. "Magic that works through things or processes. I'm a thread mage…"


	27. Chapter 27: Boooring

A/N: Tris/George has been suggested. Whaddya all think?

Briar was having the time of his life. He had been spending the evening at the Dancing Dove, amongst the thieves, taking part in the nightly competitions. It was a good idea; each night the thieves would compete in fighting and races, keeping their skills sharp. Briar was holding his own, despite his being out of practice; it seemed he wasn't quite as civilised as he thought. Briar grinned. If Sandry could see him now…

Sandry, however, was busy.  The prince had kept her occupied on the dance floor, and now they had retired to the outskirts of the hall and the canapés. Jon was captivated; she was so different from the other ladies. Neither silly like most of them, nor aggressive like Alanna; she was balanced. And the stories she had to tell were amazing. The differences in their cultures could supply enough conversation material for a kingdom.

Jon turned in the middle of a conversation, and caught his smiling mother's eye. Giving her a tiny wave, he steered Sandry over there. When she found herself suddenly in front of the throne, she was slightly stunned; she recovered magnificently, though, dropping a graceful curtsy.

"Your Majesties," she murmured delicately, suddenly demure. Lianne laughed gently, holding out her tiny hand palm up. "Lianne and Roald to our friends. Please, won't you tell us about your country?"

And so the monologue was repeated. Sandry was, quite frankly, getting bored. Reaching out with her mind, she touched Tris and Daja.

_I'm dying of boredom here,_ she moaned mentally. _You guys are so lucky. _

_You didn't seem too upset dancing with the prince, _Daja pointed out.

_Oh, he's alright, but he talks a lot. A bit full of himself. Basic nobility, really. _Sandry sent an image of her wrinkling her nose, bringing laughter from her friends.


	28. Chapter 18: Oh, god

A/n: One chapter late, here is the 'something a little different'. I love writing these chapters-they really get me inspired. J Thanks again to all my reviewers!

Back in the divine Realms, havoc had ensued. The Great Mother Goddess was trying to make herself heard over the racquet, Mithros was shouting indiscriminately, and most of the lesser gods were laughing at their attempts. The strangers, though, only stood aside and looked aloof.

After great effort and a bit of sword-swinging from Mithros, a kind of tentative hush crept over the gathering. The Great Mother Goddess finally relaxed, sitting down gracefully in her throne as if nothing had happened.

"Right," she ordered briskly, "I'm glad that's over with. If I might continue with the matter at hand?" Nodding her head graciously towards the strangers, she murmured, "You have the floor, my cousins."

A tall woman in a soft green habit and gold girdle stepped forward from the group. The others grouped themselves behind her, bringing themselves into clear view. Murmurs spread out softly at their unmistakably foreign appearance, but were silenced by a glare from the Mother.

"Cousins," The foreign goddess began, her voice soft and gentle, like the sound of long grass rustling in the breeze, "I am Mila-known in my own lands as Mila of the Grain. I rule over the northern lands of the countries far from here. My colleagues make up the chief Gods of our pantheon- the Smith, the Green man-" She smiled affectionately at his name, "Asaia of the air and the lady of water, Yalina. As you know, we have never before had cause to come before you, but three days ago, some of those under our personal care were brought to these lands."

She was interrupted by the big, burly, black god she had introduced as the Smith. "In short, cousins, we want to know when they can get back, and what's going to happen to them before they do." He scowled darkly. "_Two _of my people are here. I want to get them back where I can look after them."

"We have no power here." Yalina clarified. "These are your domains. Will you send us back our chosen?"

This caused a desperate flurry of noise, and only the great clang of Mithros' sword against his shield bringing silence. From the shadows, however, there emerged a figure clad in black. Shakith moved slowly into the centre of the hall.

The Great Mother Goddess nodded courteously to the seer. "Shakith, my sister, have you wisdom to lend to us?"

The blind goddess nodded stiffly. "I do, Great Mother. At your request, Gainel and I went on with our investigation into the coming divergence. I fear I must disappoint our distant cousins. To remove these people would have untold effects on the course of the world. It is necessary for them to remain. Their fates are tied up in this affair."

The strangers stepped back, murmuring quietly to each other. After a moment, the beautiful, wraithlike, winged Asaia emerged.

"Then, cousins, with your permission-" She bowed to the Great Mother Goddess "-we will remain until our chosen can return with us. We will not leave them here alone. We will stay."

Mithros stood, tall, imposing and majestic. "Let it be known that our Cousins will remain in this realm at their leisure until such time as they see fit to return to their own lands. Let they be treated as kinsmen!"


	29. Chapter 29: Playing with swords

A/n: Soooo sorry for the delay, my life's been hectic… Promise we're back on track now!

THE NEXT MORNING

Alanna was sitting on her bed, desperately trying to sort out her intricately styled hair. She had so far succeeded in creating a massive rat's nest. She was on the point of chopping it off when the laughing voices of Cythera and Sandry echoed down the corridor. Grinning with delighted relief, Alanna screeched at them to get in here and 'help her with this crazy mass of snakes.'

Cythera threw up her hands in horror as she came into the room. "Aly!" She wailed. "I spent ages doing that! And don't tell me you _slept_ in it."

"Yup." The Lioness replied cheerfully, still attacking her copper locks. "Are you going to help or not?"

Shaking her head in resignation, Sandry came over with Cythera to gang up on the unruly hair. Despite the constant wails of despair from the two ladylike nobles, eventually Cythera and Sandry sorted it out. Alanna ran a hand through her now-sleek head of fire, eyes dancing.

"_Thank _you. I don't know how I'd've managed it. You coming to practice this morning?" Cythera nodded; Sandry frowned, confused. Alanna, blushing at her own stupidity in not telling Sandry about them, informed her swiftly of the morning training sessions. Luckily, and slightly to Alanna's surprise, Sandry was all for it.  
  
"We learnt staff fighting at Winding Circle, but no edged weapons. I'd love to learn. Daja would, too, and tris might like to watch. I'll ask them." Her eyes went unfocused for a moment, as though looking at something only she could see, then returned to normal. "They'll be there." Sandry said decisively, standing up and tying her hair back with a spare ribbon. Alanna blinked.

"How did you…" She asked, stunned. Sandry grinned.

"I'm sure I told you, Aly. We can speak mind-to-mind. I _did_ tell you. Briar will come too, by the way."

Alanna nodded, looking rather shell-shocked. "I didn't believe you," she mumbled faintly. Suddenly she whirled on Cythera, her vitality rushing back. "You knew about this!" She cried accusingly. Cythera nodded, grinned, and chucked a pillow at her friend. Another war would have ensued, had not Sandry pointed out that they really did have to go _right now._

Tris and Cythera were sitting on the benches at the side of the courtyard, watching the others fighting. Cythera's green eyes were amused; Tris's grey ones were full of mixed awe, disapproval, and envy. Both had their attention currently fixed on Alanna. She was playing with a blade the way Sandry played with silk thread, or Tris played with lightnening.After a while, Tris remarked quietly,

"I can see why you call her the Lioness."

Cythera snorted. "We called her that before she ever touched a weapon. You don't ever want Aly mad at you."

"You don't ever want Tris mad at you." Pointed out a lilting voice. Daja had come to sit next to them. "It's the lightening thing."

Cythera raised an eyebrow. "The lightening thing?" She enquired calmly.

Daja chuckled. "For some reason the whole oh-look-I'm-going-to-electrocute-anyone-who-annoys-me attitude doesn't go down well. Can't think why."

Idly, Tris batted at her friend, glaring at her. "I hardly _ever_ do that ever more." She pointed out. Laughing, the three went back to their places on the courtyard, preparing for yet more bruises.


	30. Chapter 30: Games

A/n: okay, ok, so this is how it works. My person-who-I-bounce-ideas-off has been bugging me about this story, and because I really hate it when she gets mad at me, on account of her being rather Trislike, I figure I'd better get on with it. Plus I want to bug Shabnom by going on with this, cos it means I have an excuse to not go on with my Troy story. So, wonderful person that I am, I'm officially here with the news that THIS STORY IS ROLLING AGAIN!

Briar grinned happily to himself. He was having the time of his life. He leaned back gently in the wooden chair, making it creak rather ominously. Sheer luxury.

He had returned to the Dancing Dove. The place was great. The system here, Briar realised, was just as complex as the one back home and far, far more complex then the one up at the palace. But he was used to that. Basically, you did what George said and maybe, one day, when you got really, really good, you tried to kill George. Briar couldn't help wondering if anyone was that good. And once you got that sorted out, you could quite happily spend your evenings here without a care in the world. Except that nagging feeling that everyone around you would kill you as soon as look at you, which was standard in the Criminal Underworld and hardly worth mentioning.

The only puzzle was who to introduce to the place. He knew for a fact that Sandry-nosy Duchess, Briar thought with brotherly affection-would find out somehow, so she'd have to come. She probably wouldn't approve, of course, but it did her good to get shaken up every once in a while, and Briar did so love to get one up over on her. Tris would definitely _never _approve, so he'd wait till he had the others on his side before he ever told her. Daja would just take it in her stride. She always did.

That was the thing about telepathy. You never had any damn privacy. It was probably going to cause a lot of trouble when they started having love interests.

Briar cut off that line of thought hurriedly. The idea of his foster-sisters sleeping with anyone was highly disturbing. They were family, after all. Except in the strictly technical sense.

 George grinned at him from across the table. "Penny for 'em," he said idly, taking a swig of his ale. Briar shook his head.

"Not worth it." He said cheerfully, following suit. "Want another game of cards, or have you lost enough money for one night?"

George swatted at him idly. "Shut yer mouth, ye young cub." He said mildly. "I've been playing since afore you were thought of."

Briar raised an eyebrow, chuckling despite himself. "I know," he shot back, "You would have thought you'd have got the hang of it by now."  George glared at him, but handed him five cards. For a moment they were silent, scrutinising the worn cars in their hands. The George spoke, slowly, as if real thought was going into the words.

"They say," He said softly, "That the gods play with mortals. Amongst themselves, they make bets; they move us, risk us and fold us this way and that... Play with us like we're playing now. What do ye think of that, my young friend?"

Briar snorted. "Surely the gods have better things to do then make bets on mortals."

"I'm not so sure." The older man replied, considering. "They're our gods, after all."  

"And what are we supposed to think?" asked the plant mage, suddenly serious. "That every time a child dies, or a tree is cut down for no good reason or a good man's killed for no greater purpose then for some Bag's greed, it's because the Gods are placing bets on it all?"

George shook his head mournfully. "I must be getting old," he growled. "All this talk of gods gets to a man. What've you got, lad?"

Briar glanced down t his cards again, and smiled slightly. Laying them down on the table, he said smugly, "Three knights."

George smiled triumphantly. "I win, me' lad. I've four mages."


	31. Chapter 31: Girl Talk

A/n: Thank you to all of my reviewers! Good to know I haven't lost any of you guys… I forgot how much fun it was to write this stuff!

Sandry rolled on to her stomach, playing idly with the tassels on the edge of the bedcover. Her silky hair was spread out wildly over the bed, tangled with Tris' copper strands from the girl who was lying next to her. Alanna, sitting on her desk at the other side of the room, turned round and glared at her.

"You're rumpling the sheets!" She protested, trying to sound upset. Sandry grinned impishly. "_You _do it."

"I'm allowed to." Alanna informed her tartly. "It's my bed."

"_Was_," Daja, leaning against the door, corrected. Sandry batted a hand in her direction. "Guest's prerogative." She said calmly. Alanna raised an eyebrow, held the expression perfectly for five seconds, then collapsed in fits of laughter. Suddenly, Cythera looked up decisively from the book she had been reading.

"I know what's wrong with you." She said, making Alanna jump and Sandry shriek with shock. Unperturbed, Cythera went on "it's all these knights around."

Tris, too raised a head, a sceptical expression on her grouchy face. "How so?" She enquired. Cythera chuckled.

"Alanna and I have been stuck in a convent for years, you people have been in a temple. Suddenly we get exposed to all these strong, handsome Knights-"

"-In training," interjected Tris,

"-alright, Knights-in-training, and the impact has shut down our brains."

"You seem well-versed in the impacts of handsome knights on the mind, Cythera." Remarked Alanna innocently. "Do you have your eye on one of them?"

"Raoul seemed pretty keen on you…" Sandry agreed. "is there something we should know about?"

Cythera blushed, glared, and then shot back, "What about the Prince? He was quick enough to ask you to dance, I notice…"

Sandry, who had been subject to far too many of these comments from her friends over the years, merely tossed her head and grinned. "oh, Jonathon's good-looking enough, but I don't know how he gets his head through the doorway. If it let down a bit, I might give him another look." This caused roars of laughter, and all but fits from Alanna and Cythera. Finally, when they had pretty much recovered, Alanna gasped out,

"Can't argue with that!" Daja strolled over to the bed, a wicked look in her eyes. "Well, you'll just have to downsize that head about, won't you?"

Alanna placed a hand on her heart, solemn-ness incarnate. "First chance I get!"


	32. Chapter 32: The Jon thing

A/n: Never fear, the Jon thing is here! After which the Tris thing will appear! Ok, enough with the rhyming. This story is going to be longer then I anticipated. Oh, well.

hides from killer penguins

Their opportunity was to appear sooner then they expected…

Jon was talking avidly with Gary and Raoul. They stood close together, leaning over the table with their heads together, their voices low. At first, when Alanna, Cythera and Sandry approached them, they thought the boys must be discussing some kind of mad prank, and stepped up the pace. But they had no such luck.

"What're you talking about?" Asked Alanna cheerfully, striding up and sitting on the table. Jon shook his head.

"You wouldn't be interested." He said, confidently. Dismissing her presence with a glance, he turned back to the table. Aggravated, Alanna snatched up the detailed bit of paper that lay between them, ignoring their shouts of protest.

Her eyes widened as she looked at it. Jon rolled his eyes. "I _told _you you  wouldn't be interested." He said in an impatient voice. She looked up, an expression on her face reminiscent of… of something very happy.

"This," she said, waving the paper around in the air, "Is the best map of the Battle of Queenscove Ford I have ever seen! Look at the detail! You can see every single squad's movements, look, even this bit here where the water was dammed…

Pulling Sandry over, she started to explain the battle to her friend with vicious detail. Then, whirling around in mid-sentence, she waved it in front of Jon's face.

It was a rather dazed face.

"Why," She demanded angrily, "On earth did you think I wouldn't be interested? Do you still think of me as a bloody court flower?"

Jon's mouth gaped. Finally, he managed, "Girls can't manage battles."

There was a sudden silence in the room. The air seemed to turn cold. Outside, the sparrows continued cheeping unperturbed, but had they seen the look in Alanna's eyes they would have fled.

"And every morning?" came her voice, unnaturally quiet. "On the practice courts? The years spent sneaking out of convent to learn how to hit, and kick, and wield a dagger? Would you have done as much?" There were no changes of tone in Alanna's flat voice. "_And you still think girls can't fight battles?" _

"Alanna..." Gary murmured softly. Alanna ignored him.

"Tomorrow." She said firmly. Jon blinked.

"Tomorrow what?"

"Tomorrow I'll fight you. Out in the open, in front of everyone. If I lose, you've proved your point well enough."

Jon shook his head. "There would be no honour in beating a girl."

"Then take back your words. No? I didn't think so."

"And if you win?" Jon found himself asking, a sarcastic tone creeping into his voice.

What to ask for? She didn't have to think long. The answer was at the top of her mind. It always had been.

"If I win," And her voice, to her astonishment, was steady, "I want your solemn oath that when you ascend the throne, you will resurrect an old tradition." Seeing the puzzled expressions on the faces of her friends, she continued inexorably,

"You will allow girls to become knights."

But she left him no time to reply. Before he could draw breath, she and her friends were gone.


	33. Chapter 33: Despair

A/n: Don't know if I'll be able to update for a few weeks, as I'm going on holiday. Please, don't stop reviewing, wonderful people! To whoever asked, they'll be using swords.  
  
Sandry and Cythera were hurrying through the corridors, trying to keep up with a fuming Alanna. They were panting from the exertion of running for several minutes, but Alanna's fury seemed to be lending her strength. At least, Sandry considered, they were nearly at her chambers. Not much more of this to go.  
  
Alanna flung open the door and slammed it behind her, nearly breaking Cythera's nose. Rolling her eyes at Sandry, Cythera cautiously opened it again.  
  
"Is she often like this?" Sandry enquired in a whisper. Cythera shook her head.  
  
"Only when she's really mad." She said, in the voice of an experienced sage. "Or when she knows she's done something stupid."  
  
The two girls moved in timidly to approach Alanna, who was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands.  
  
"Well," Said Sandry cheerfully, coming to sit beside her and tossing her fan up in the air, "That was silly."  
  
Alanna raised her head and glare at her. A moment later, the fan came don on her head, making her yelp.  
  
"I suppose that's a judgement from the Gods." She said glumly, rubbing her head with a groan. Cythera giggled, then subsided when she saw the look on her friend's face.  
  
"Cyth, what am I going to do?" wailed Alanna, throwing herself backwards. Sandry grinned.  
  
"You could beat him."  
  
Alanna raised her head to give her a Look. Sandry covered her hand with her mouth, the corners of her eyes crinkling.  
  
"I know." She said, raising her hands in submission. "But I ought to get points for mentioning it."  
  
"You might beat him." Said Cythera pragmatically. "You're quite good."  
  
Alanna sighed. "And he's had years of training. Face it, I don't have a hope in Hades."  
  
"We could get Tris to fry him." Suggested Sandry. "I'm sure she'd be happy to oblige."  
  
Alanna folded her arms across her chest. "No." She said firmly. "If I have to die, I'll die honourably."  
  
Cythera snorted. "As if he'd kill you."  
  
Alanna groaned. "Cythera! That was a dramatic moment!"  
  
"Tough luck. Dramatic moments are my prerogative." Cythera said firmly.  
  
"If you two are quite finished?" Sandry wanted to know. "If Alanna's going to die, she'd better get some sleep. "  
  
The two of them walked out of the room, chatting. Alanna glared at their backs.  
  
"I'll haunt you!" She yelled to their retreating backs. The reply was swift and laughing.  
  
"That'll make a change!" 


	34. Chapter 34: Fight

A/N: I'm back! And guess what? Having just had my birthday, **I am now twelve! **

God, I feel old. Here you go, then.

Alanna was walking determinedly towards the courtyard, head held high, flanked by Cyth, Sandry, Daja and Tris. Briar had gone ahead of them, 'to get a good seat'. Alanna was dressed in leggings and a shirt of a golden tan and a tunic, the least restricting one she had, of a slightly darker shade. Her hair was swept back into a haphazard but strangely elegant ponytail, and she had dark leather sandals protecting her feet.

The group of girls were waylaid before they reached the destination, though, by a red-faced and incredulous Gary. He folded his arms, leaned forward, and stared at Alanna.

"You aren't seriously going to do this." He stated flatly. Alanna affected surprise that he would even ask.

"Of course I am. I'm not going to surrender to that royal prig!"

Daja snorted; Tris covered her mouth with her hand. Gary growled.

"You're going to get slaughtered!"

Alanna shrugged. "You want me to flee from a fight because I might lose? Is that what knights do?"

"Of course not, but…" Gary ran a harassed hand through his hair. His eyes became full of pleading. Alanna softened slightly, and laid a steady hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Gary. Really, I will."

They walked together in silence the remaining distance to the courtyard, Gary looking worried, Alanna calm. As they entered, Alanna noticed with a tiny smile that Briar was indeed sitting in the front row.

Then her eyes strayed back, and for the first time worry flickered in her eyes. There were also a lot of other people watching. About a hundred.

Damn.

Her eyes caught Jonathon's across the courtyard, and she glared at him. Striding forward she forced him to do the same, or look stupid. When he was close enough for her to do so without being overheard, she hissed, "Let's get this over with."

She raised her sword up without any preamble. He brought his up to meet it; somewhere, the inner Alanna smiled. He had to follow her lead. Good.

In one corner of the courtyard, Raoul struck the gong that had been set up for duels such as this. For a moment, both combatants stood perfectly still. Then…

Jon drew his sword back up to his shoulder and swung it forward. Alanna dodged it easily. It was an amateur's move, to slow for anyone with any skill with a blade. _How bad does he think I am?_ Evidently very, for there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes at her agility. He tried a marginally better move, snaking his sword under hers in an attempt to make her drop it. She twisted her sword and brought it down on his, almost hard enough to make him drop it.

_Why won't he do this properly? Why can't he accept that I'm a worthy opponent?_ Swiftly she switched to the offensive, hoping to take advantage of the brief space of time before he figured out just how good she was. Memories of long evenings spent with Shang Warriors and lone Knights who had agreed to teach her.

_Your greatest gift will always be your speed, Alanna. Your size is not a hindrance, it is an advantage. Utilise it…_

Darting almost to one side of Jonathon, she slipped her sword down through the gap between his arms and jerked her sword up underneath his, sending it flying out of his arms in a lightening-fast move.

She hadn't expected it to _work. _ Dazed, remembering what to do only through sheer habit, she placed her sword against his neck. Her voice, when it came, was cracked and hoarse.

"Yield."

She could barely hear his whisper of reply.

"I yield." Her sword came down; she bowed stiffly. He did the same-and only then did she become aware of the rest of the world. Her ears were flooded with the desperate noise of the frenzied crowd; gasps, indistinguishable shouts, and…

Cheers. Her friends were clapping and shouting her name, but so were many she had never met. They were smiling at her…

What could she do? She smiled back.  


	35. Chapter 35: Forgiveness

Alanna was lying one her bed, a dreamy smile on her face. Sandry was sitting next to her, leaning back, with her arms around her knees and her eyes shining.

"The way you flicked your sword through his _arms!" _ Sandry exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Cythera, sitting at the desk, rolled her eyes. Sandry had been speaking like this for the last half-hour. 

On the other hand, it _had_ been pretty amazing. Alanna, of course, was denying it, but everyone knew she was ecstatic.  

"And the best bit," Sandry continued, oblivious, "Is that Jon'll have to let girls become knights. He's too honourable not to. Just think what you've _done, _Aly!"

"She's right, you know." Commented Daja, who had seemed rather more enthusiastic then usual over the fight. "Girls from all over Tortall will sing your praises."

Alanna snorted, but she was smiling. "Just think how silly I'll look when none of them turn up."

"They will." Tris said firmly.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Daja, who was sitting closest, rose to get it with a grunt. Tugging the door a little-it was liable to get stuck-she got it open suddenly, throwing her a little and making her stagger back. Steadying herself with her staff, she looked through the doorway…

…And stared. Jonathon was standing there, as meek as any Page. Everybody sat up abruptly, most glaring at him.

"Can I come in?" He asked quietly. "I want to talk to you."

Alanna nodded stiffly. Cythera pulled up the spare chair for him. It wasn't very comfortable.

Jon cleared his throat and looked directly at Alanna.

"Alanna, I, uh…"

"Yes?" asked Tris impatiently from behind him. Jon looked like he wanted to snap at her, but thought the better of it.

"I want to apologise." He said in a rush, almost tripping over his words." Cythera smiled smugly.

"What was that, Jon?" She enquired innocently, cupping a hand to her ear. "I didn't quite catch it." Jon took an exaggerated breath.

"_I'm sorry_." Looking back at Alanna, he said earnestly, "I underestimated you. You never had a chance at proper training, and you beat a knight who's been working at it every day for eight years. And I want you to know…" He swallowed-" I won't go back on my word. The moment I ascend the throne, girls will be accepted as Knights. Can you forgive me?"

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then Alanna's face broke into a wide grin.

"Of course I forgive you! Get out of here!"

Chuckling with relief, Jon got up, bowed elaborately, and swept out. Under lowered lashes, Sandry watched him go.


	36. Chapter 36: Fluff

Cythera and Sandry burst into Alanna's room, trilling delightedly, "Wake up!"

Alanna sat up groggily, running a rand through her mussed hair. "What's happening?" She asked vaguely, staring around herself as if she had never seen her rooms before. Sandry twitched a hand; the curtains flew open.

"You have to meet Madame Marillia today, Aly!" said Cythera happily. "You _did_ agree."

Alanna groaned. She had absolutely no idea who this person was. She had agreed to a lot of things over the last few days.  

"You _do_ remember, Aly." Sandry said confidently. "She's the wedding planner."

"WHAT?" gasped Alanna, throwing back the covers and jumping out of bed. "When exactly did I agree to this?"

"Lunchtime two days ago, in the rose garden." Cythera said promptly. "I've been keeping track."

Alanna shook her head despairingly. "Have you dragged Gary into this too?"

"Of course." Sandry said, calmly. "He needs to decide what colours he wants for the groom's side."

The Lioness stalked over to her wardrobe and threw open the doors. "Is there any point in arguing with you?" She wanted to know.

"Of course not. Which dress do you want? We're in a hurry."

Aly selected a forest green one with a square neck, her favourite style; also _completely coincidentally_ the one that happened to be at the front of the cupboard. Shutting her eyes, Sandry made a complex movement with her hands; Alanna's nightdress slithered off and was replaced by the petticoats and gown she had selected, and her hair untangled itself and slipped into elegant loose waves. Alana turned round and grinned.

"I am _never_ going to get used to that."

"You're not supposed to." Putting her head on one side, Sandry straightened the gown out with a few final touches. "Now come on. The others are waiting for us."

'The others', Alanna discovered when she arrived at the small conference camber Sandry lead her to, meant Tris, Daja, Lark, Rosethorn, Gary, Jon, Raoul, Numair, Niko, and the Queen. Alanna went decidedly red.

A tall, rather skinny woman in a simple grey gown clapped her hands together delightedly. "Ah, the bride-to-be!" Sandry pushed Alanna forward firmly to a chair at the fore of the room. The copper-haired hostage looked around and met Gary's eye; they shared an exasperated look. Madame Marillia took a chair at the very front, facing the others, who were arranged in a semicircle.

"So," She began, "Let us start at the beginning. My Lady of Trebond, your dress will of course be white?"

Sandry nodded encouragingly. Alanna gulped.

"Yes…"

Half an hour later, Alanna had completely got the hang of it. She was holding forth in a debate with several of the others about the bridesmaid's posies.

"Look," She said firmly, "There is no way tulips are going to go with the dresses, simply no way… It has to be lilies. And roses for the Maid of Honour, that's you, Cyth…"

Suddenly Niko put in, "Interesting though this is, I for one am going to have to get back to work."

Alanna glanced up at the clock, and a hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! We need to get changed for the picnic!"

At this reminder of the afternoon's entertainment, the meeting swiftly dispersed. In less then a minute, the room was empty of everyone except Alanna and Gary. Rather shyly, Alanna began…

"Gary..."

"Yes?"

Well, here goes. "You're not… Regretting this, are you? Because, you know, you night still be able to back out. I mean, you gave me a chance but I never thought to ask you, and I just wondered if…" She was babbling. Gary laid a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her mouth abruptly, blushing.

"Aly," He said tentatively, "I promise you, I don't regret this. I mean, I'm ready to go on with this. That is, if you want to…"

"Oh no, I just thought you might…" She trailed off, giving him a beautiful smile, full of relief. He looked at her with a matching smile, then reached up wit his spare hand and brushed back a stray lock of hair from her face. Her lashes swept down modestly, then raised themselves again. The movement had brought them closer together, and suddenly Gary was intensely aware of body, and the smell of roses lingering around her. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he moved his head down to meet her rising face and planted a kiss on her deliciously soft lips. Pulling back reluctantly, he watched her face like a hawk to see if there was any trace of regret.

There wasn't. He kissed her again, and when he drew back, he could see in her eyes the fire he knew must be living in his own. It took every ounce of will he had to gently let go of her hand, to relinquish her with a loving smile and a kiss on the hand. She left the room ahead of him, but as she passed through the doorway, he caught her by the waist and spun her round. Drawing her close, he murmured in her ear, "No regrets, Aly?"

He didn't need her verbal answer; her eyes told him everything he needed to know, but he savoured it anyway.

"Never, Gary." She smiled again, that big, beautiful smile, and pulled him down again for one final kiss. Then she pulled away from his grasp, and with a delicate, almost tender laugh, she danced away down the corridors.

Gary remained where he was, smiling dreamily at the wall.


	37. Chapter 37: Love is in the Air

Daja and Tris, both sporting shawls to keep back unruly locks, were vainly attempting to herd Cythera, Sandy, Alanna, Jon, Gary, Raoul _and _Briar out of the main doors and through the courtyard. The males, who had been landed with the loaded picnic baskets plus a couple of palace kittens Sandry had decided they should bring along for no particular reason, were lagging behind and groaning; the girls were dancing ahead of them, chuckling at their complaints.

Raoul paused, aching his back theatrically. "Ack!" he cried, setting down the basket and throwing his hands up, "I am undone!"

Cythera watched him, a smile twitching at her lips. "What?" She cried, putting a hand on her heart, "The bravest knight of the realm, undone by this foul fiend of a basket? Alas, Alackady!"

Sandry and Alanna were in fits of laughter. Raoul and Cythera spent their lives bantering with each other. Straightening up, Raoul proclaimed, "My heart and body have been healed by the kind words of my lady fair! Tremble in fear, O basket of Doom, for this is your last hour!" Flexing his muscles theatrically, he bent down and swung the basket over his shoulder. There was a scattering of applause.

"Are you quite finished?" Asked Tris pointedly. She was standing wit her arms folded, but there was amusement in her tome.

"For now." Said Raoul, with a chuckle. Giving him a mock glare, the effect of which was lessened slightly by the grin that graced her face, Tris ordered sternly, "Hurry up, then!"

Shepherded by the long-suffering Tris and Daja, the group did eventually reach their destination. It was a favourite spot for picnics, a clear glade in the light wood next to a stream. The girls set out the things with little exclamations of delight; Lark had sorted out the picnic with the kitchens, and the spread was really most prodigious. It did take a while for the girls to arrange themselves comfortably, since there was dew on the grass and stains were a constant risk, but they got settled in due course. Gary had contrived to be sitting next to Alanna, leaving Cythera with Raoul, a situation everybody seemed pleased enough with.

Alanna, grinning, looked at the feast surrounding her. Reaching out for a roast chicken sandwich, she leant back against a nearby tree, her head on Gary's shoulder. Absentmindedly, he sought out her hand, which she slipped happily into his. Just as he was about to shift to get more comfortable, he realised that his fiancée had fallen asleep. He didn't blame her. He would rather have faced an army of Carthakians then a wedding planner. Deciding to make the best of it, he shut his eyes loosely and let himself drift off into the world of chaotic mindfulness. His last waking thought was of burnished copper hair, and violet eyes.

Raoul and Cythera, however, were still very much awake and joking happily. Reaching out for a strawberry tart, Raoul, with an air of great solemnity, folded it in half and placed it, all at once, into his mouth. Cythera, watching his cheeks bulge out of proportion, was set off into complete hysterics; only frantic patting on the back could do anything to relieve her conditioning. Still gasping for breath, she managed to splutter accusingly, "Shame on you for making me behave so!"

Bowing deeply to her as well as he could from his seat, Raoul begged:

"O woe is me, that I should so offend my Lady! Let me make some atonement, some reparation. My lady, in hope that I might receive your pardon, I humbly offer you the greatest of my treasures."

Picking something off the ground, he offered it to her in cupped hands. Smiling, she took it off him, looked down into her folded hands, and grinned. Raoul smiled disarmingly at her.

"The greatest gift in my possession!" he insisted, swiping back some errant hair from his forehead. Cythera couldn't help noticing how interestingly his muscles moved.

"An acorn?"

"A thousand forests!"

Dimpling at him, Cythera nodded regally. "A courtly gift indeed! But I fear I must prove you wrong, good sir-for all the poets are in agreement when they claim that the greatest gift of all is Love itself!"

"And you have mine, my lady, as any Knight loves his Queen!"

Within their collective mind, Tris, Daja and Sandry exchanged knowing glances. If they had anything to do with it, there were going to be at least two weddings before the year was out.

And still deeper, where no-one could see her thought, Sandry was considering vaguely exactly what colour Jon's eyes were.


	38. Chapter 38: Discovery

It was mid-afternoon, a rather dismal day in Corus. Alanna was out on the training fields practicing archery-she had been saying something about training under moist conditions, Cythera recalled. It didn't matter. The important thing was that she was out of the way.

Cythera, swiftly tying back her hair with a white ribbon, headed along to Sandry's room. Knocking on the door, she was greeted by the needlewoman's gentle voice.

"Who is it?" Came the muffled voice from within the room. Grinning, Cythera replied, "It's me."

There was the sound of footsteps, and then the door swung open. Sandry had a needle in her mouth, and behind her Cythera noted a piece of silk she had clearly been in the middle of embroidering. Breezing past her, Cythera sat down on the bed and gestured to Sandry to shut the door. Obediently, Sandry closed the big oak portal and came back over to her chair. Picking out stitches as she spoke, she asked calmly, "What was it you wanted?"

"In the short term? Food. In the slightly longer term, to organise Alanna's birthday in yet another example of my complete domination over her life." She smirked. Still sewing steadily, Sandry's eyes narrowed accusingly.

"You _planned_ that answer, didn't you? You actually sat down and thought it out."

"Oh, give me some credit! I did it as I was walking. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I want to give Aly a decent birthday, and I'm starving."

Sandry rolled her eyes and gestured towards a tray of fruit and biscuits on the dresser. Chuckling, Cythera brought it over and sat back down, holding it on her lap. Leaning in towards her work, Sandry looked over the frame smiled at the sight of Cythera wolfing down plums. Clearing her throat noisily, she glared at her friend until her Cythera's expression became rueful.

"So," said Sandry conversationally, "What's all this about Aly's birthday?"

Swallowing a mouthful of gingerbread, Cythera explained, "It's in a month's time. We'll sort out a picnic or something, but I thought I'd let you know so if you wanted to get her a present…"

"Of course I want to!"

I thought you might." Cyth smiled happily. "Tell the others, will you? And Gary?"

"Of course." Letting her eyes unfocus for a moment, she made contact with the others. It took only the lifetime of a heartbeat to relay the message.

"I told the other three," She informed Cythera crisply, "and Briar was with Gary, so he'll tell him."

"Right."

"Now tell me about you and Raoul."

Definitely a blush. Cythera folded her arms and glared. "We're friends!"

"Oh, come on, Cyth… I can see it, Tris and Daja can see it, Aly can see it… You're supposed to be the romantic one! Admit it!"

"There's nothing to admit!"

"You're in love with him!"

Cythera flopped back on the bed, and Sandry moved to sit next to her. She was surprised to see that Cyth's eyes were almost frightened, but there was a smile on her blushing face.

"I don't know what I feel." It came out almost as a whisper. Sandry swore she could hear the lovesick girl's heartbeat. "When he looks at me, I feel like I want to die, but it's a _good_ feeling… Like I'm so happy I could sing… And I think about him all the time… And when he laughs, I want to laugh with him, for ever and ever." She looked at Sandry with big, mournful eyes. "If you think about someone always and you never, ever want to be without them, that means you love them, right?"

All unbidden, a vision of piercing eyes and black hair floated into Sandry's eyes. Her reply, when it came, was quiet.

"Yes, Cythera…." She murmured a newfound wonder in her voice, "I think it does."

A/N: Thanks to all of my reviewers! I think this chappie is a bit OOC, but I figure, they're in love! They're gonna act a little differently!


	39. Chapter 39: Dreams

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Incidentally, anyone who wants to CC this, feel free. ;)

QP: I am Sandry and Sandry is me. She jumps on people a lot. ;)

**"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities."**

-- Janos Arany (1817-82), Hungarian poet

_Sunshine. The warmth of it trickled beneath her skin and spread through the length of her body, dispersing the cold oblivion of dreamlessness. She shifted slightly, letting the almost tangible light of morning reach to her face. It teased open her eyelids, making her blink like some startled doe in the brilliance that shone even from this dim glow after the night. She lay on grass, fresh and green; her clothes had soaked up the dew and chilled her during the night. Getting up slowly, with catlike grace, she knelt back and regarded her surroundings. Cythera squinted towards the sun, still tinted with red from its rising, and wondered idly why she was not in her bed. This didn't look like Tortall- oh, she was thinking like one of her silly characters. Trying to focus, she brought one of her legs up and stood shakily. Looking away from the light, which was becoming painful, she realized there was another figure in the middle distance; tall, muscular, with one arm extended. For all he was made into a silhouette by the backlighting, she knew instantly who he was. Hitching up her skirts- oh dear, this was clichéd- she started running towards him, smiling. For all he had seemed far away, in moments she was in his arms, feeling the warmth of the strong circle that enclosed her. Shorter then him, the top of her head fitted neatly under his chin, and he rested it there for a moment. Looking up into Raoul's eyes, Cythera smiled- slowly, gently, with a subtle shifting of features that seemed to set her face alight. _

_He bent down and kissed the top of her head, with lightest feather-contact, and tightened his hold on her. From within his arms, she laughed. _

_She had answered her own question. She knew what love was. She had known all along. _

_--------------------------_

_Alanna swung. She could feel the power of the sword between her bare hands, the leather wrappings imprinting their designs onto fingers unused to such work. The blade whipped through the air, whistling like some misplaced nightingale in the silent stone courtyard. She planted one foot carefully before the other, still moving the rippling steel around her, now in a circle, now in a figure-of-eight. She was moving more smoothly then she ever had before, her eyes perfectly aligned with her sword, her body perfectly coordinated. She had spent her whole life dreaming of these rhythms, these movements; trod them so many times in her waking dreams..._

_Thrust. Block. Footwork. Turn. Swing. Stab. Turn. Swing. Thrust. Block. Turn. _

_Yes. _

_Turn- and the blade stopped, halted by some force invisible. Alanna's hand shook on the blade. She looked into the face of the man who had been her friend, her mentor, her colleague, her peer, her betrothed..._

_There, in that moment, Gary smiled, and the world lit up. _

_Her love?_

_-----------_

_Sandry sat on the richly carpeted floor of some lounge, leaning against an armchair, sewing carefully. Each stitch was planned for a millennium in the split-second it took her; here across-stitch, her padded satin to lend depth- and as she worked she filled her mind with memories. Coming to Winding Circle, meeting the others, the moment their magic had come together; waking up for the first time in Tortall to the sight of violet eyes; laughter and flying pillows. _

_Then, springing all unbidden to the forefront of her mind, another memory. Sapphire eyes, this time, cutting right through to her heart and laying it open with a singly glance. Piercing her soul like a needle. Black hair -entrancing, capturing her. Her needle was moving without the consent of a stunned mind, forming pictures faster then she could take them in. She glanced up- and there he was, sitting across the room, watching her with a smile playing on his lips. Seeing her eyes fall on him, he stood and walked over to her. Taking the hand he offered, she stood, drawing herself up. She realised she had not let go of him; his thumb was rubbing the back of her hand. Meeting his eyes...Sapphire eyes... she smiled._

_This was love. _


	40. Chapter 40: Confessions

It was, Tris considered, a supremely strange condition. For days Sandry's mental touch had seemed lighter, silkier… She knew what her closer-then-sister was going through. After years with Sandry, she could see it in the way she spoke, walked, ate, the way she would look up and back again every time _he_ was in the room…

And, over the years, she had certainly read enough about it to recognise the symptoms. Sandry had gone and fallen in love.

And she was happy for her. Of course she was. But it was so like Sandry to go and _complicate_ things.

Jon was the heir to the throne here; he was an only child; there was no possibility of abdication. Sandry belonged back in Emelan, in Summersea, with her uncle and her family. If she stayed here, they wouldn't even by able to mind-speak, the distance was so tremendous.

It was certainly troubling.

But love could certainly do funny things to people. Take Cythera, now. A lovely girl, admittedly, but a hopeless romantic. It wouldn't take a blind ant to see her feelings for Raoul- or his for her, but he was a boy, and didn't have to be subtle. Mila knew Jon wasn't, or Gary. For that matter, the only person around here who seemed to be in love without going completely insane and shouting it to the world was Alanna, and she was decently sensible about these things, thank goodness. Of course, there was always the fact that Alanna didn't seem to realise she was in love yet; there might well be a bit of fuss when she finally did.

Tris leant back in her chair, pushing her glasses up her nose and letting her book fall open to her lap. She was wearing her hair in her customary braids, and was wearing a black-and-gold day gown. She knew that the dress suited her colouring, but on days like these black simply made her sweat. The tiniest of smiles came to her frowning face as a maxim constantly uttered by one of her matronly relatives on summer days; "_Men sweat; ladies **perspire.**_" Well, Aunt Alicia had sweated like a pig, anyway.

Shifting her position in the rather uncomfortable wicker chair, she stood, shaking herself irritably like a wet cat whose dignity has been ruffled, and decided to take a walk in the gardens, where she could find some breezes. Treading the labyrinth paths of the palace with caution, she managed to reach one of the small rose gardens without too much difficulty. Stepping outside, she let out an audible sigh of relief. Here, where the walls were low for maximum sunlight, the breezes were plentiful; the wind whipped up her skirt and flowing sleeves eagerly, delighting in the lowing black ilk with its shining treasure of golden thread. Lifting up one hand slightly, Tris sent out a call; the breezes, unused to such a power, resisted. After a moment, however, one or two approached, it seemed to Tris, out of sheer curiosity; the rest followed in their wake, unsure creatures tentatively following some brave leader. Folding her fingers in slowly, Tris tugged; the breezes flew instantly to encircle her. Tris smiled with genuine pleasure. These winds had never felt weather-working like hers before; they had no idea how to fight it, or even if they wanted to. She made sure that each one was brought close in, arranging them all comfortably to encircle her, before setting off on a stroll.

The rose garden was beautiful, clearly designed by some old courtier who knew what he was doing. The yew hedges must have been at least a hundred years old, and each section was tucked away in some secret fold that made the joy of discovering it all the more poignant and intense. Briar, Tris reflected, would love this place, if he had not been here already; although, by the flourishing look of the roses, he had. Tris paused to admire a particularly nicely arranged set of red and white roses-love and purity of intent, Tris recalled from Cythera's heartfelt speeches; before rounding the next corner, her breezes still tugging insistently at the tightly-bound braids. Chiding them gently, Tris looked ahead of her, keen to see what colours would appear next, and grinned. Before her was a simple oak bench, and on it was sitting Alanna, leaning back with her face upturned to the sun and her eyes loosely, idly closed.

Well. This _was _convenient.

Tris, smiling wickedly, sent over one of her breezes to encircle Alanna's head, and watched with amusement as her hair began to stir up and fly around wildly. Gasping, Alanna's hand flew instinctively to her head, and her eyes came open-only to see a chuckling Tris standing in front of her, with every part of her clothing dancing around her.

"Tris! Don't sneak _up _on me like that!"

"I thought warriors were supposed to be constantly on guard." Commented Tris, eyes dancing. Alanna glared.

"Not in bloody rose gardens, they aren't!" She growled, trying to stroke her flaming hair back into place. She eyed Tris's unruffled braids critically. "Don't they take ages to fix up?"

Tris raised a hand to her head absent-mindedly. "They're worth it, though. I store my magic in them." She explained matter-of-factly.

Alanna stared, then shook her head. "Nothing you say is _ever _going to surprise me again, Miss Chandler." she said bluntly.

Tris raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that."

"Me too, actually. Now give me that breeze back? It's sweltering out here."

Obligingly, Tris sent a few breezes over to Alanna, who laughed with pleasure as the swirled around her. Tris walked over to her and sat down next to her, leaning back on the-surprisingly comfortable-oak bench.

"Now," She said calmly, turning to her Tortallan friend, "tell me about you and Gary."

Alanna glared at her, but Tris was undaunted. The Lioness squirmed ever so slightly in her seat. "There's nothing to tell!" she protested, trying to sound exasperated. "He's just my friend."

"In case you've forgotten, Aly, you're getting married to him."

"Irrelevant!"

"Hardly."

Alanna folded her arms. "Do you _ever_ give up?" She demanded.

"No. Do you?"

"Not known for it. Must be a redhead thing." Smiling at last, Alanna leant back, her position no longer defensive. Tris grinned triumphantly.

"So. Admit it."

"Admit _what_?"

"You're in love with him!"

Alanna, Tris could've sworn, turned ever so slightly purple. "I am _not _in love with Gary! Definitely, absolutely, totally, unarguably _not _in love with him. Not at all."

There was a pause. Then Tris said, "So you're in love with him, then."

"I just said…."

"Come _on_, Aly."

Alanna collapsed. Closing her eyes, she muttered, "Fine."

Tris folded her arms smugly. "What was that you said?"

"I said I was in love with him! Are you happy now?"

"Oh, yes."

All around them, the tamed breezes danced through the air, bringing the scents of roses to the two girls.

Red roses.

Love… and red roses.

As silently as she could, Tris got up, leaving Alanna to think it all through. She had two other lovestruck girls to attend to before supper.


	41. Chapter 41: Boys watchin' girls

A/N: my, my, that last one was a long chappie! I've taken to writing up in the attic on an ancient laptop so I can be alone. ;) With any luck, this one will be even longer…. And about Briar! How wonderful I am!

Corus was a wonderful city, no doubt about that, Briar mused as he wandered down a back alley. Organised street life, lots of culture, plenty of pretty girls… But when it came to greenery, it was definitely lacking. The stray patches of grass sprouting between stone slabs were withered from trampling and pollution; those citizens who kept gardens were all up near the palace, and let their employed gardeners do all the backwork. Briar was rather concerned about this; mainly because his teacher, Rosethorn, had been looking ever so slightly peaky lately. She needed plants. So did this grey place. So every now and then, as he strolled aimlessly through the street, he would lean down; with a soft touch, rejuvenating some fading petal of browned shoot. He understood there had been a plan a few years back to put trees into the lower city, but the crown had vetoed it as frivolous use of funds. Briar growled under his breath. Trees, frivolous? Just let him meet the prat of a bag who'd said that, and he'd show him what a tree could do…

Ahh. Sandry would be mad at him for thinking like that. It was something about the air of the lower city. The pungent smells spoke volumes to him, dragging him back to those years of his life he would rather forget. But you couldn't cut something like that out. In some part of him, he was still the street rat who had cut his way through money-bags and, occasionally, flesh in order to get even a crust to keep himself alive.

He didn't regret those years, not as such. He didn't regret doing what he had to, to stay alive. He wished it had never been necessary, but wishes still didn't put food on the table. And, of course, people like Sandry-Briar thought of her with a twinge of affection for his foster-sister-still insisted on believing that he had been 'a good soul all along'. They used phrases like 'a diamond in the rough'. Well, he hadn't been. He'd done what was necessary to stay alive, and he was well over that now. But he still didn't like Bags much. Sandry and her uncle were exceptions, naturally.

Of course, Sandry had watched her city die around her, watched everyone she loved wasting away. That had probably given her a slightly less naïve outlook. In a way, it was the one thing the four of them had in common; Tris's family abandoned her, Daja's had drowned, Briar had never really known his. It didn't matter much any more, it seemed; their old lives had been stripped away like faded paint, leaving only faint staining traces on their conscious minds. They were each other's family now, sisters and brothers with four parents, an uncle or two and a couple of cousins. It was a better family then most.

Of course, girls didn't always see it that way. Sandry had been acting funny lately; Tris and Daja had told him in _very _crisp tones that she had fallen in love, and he wasn't to go interfering.

Well, they could forget _that _right now. As her brother, it was his duty to go around beating up people who wanted to marry her. It was practically a law. The fact that a prince was involved did not seem to bother Briar unduly. If he wanted Sandry that badly, he was bloody well going to have to prove it.

That settled, Briar headed back to the Dancing Dove, and a stiff drink.

Within the privacy of a very big public courtyard, three young men were sitting glumly on a long, gnarled bench. Even Raoul, who was normally irrepressibly loquacious, was trapped in a melancholy silence, broken only by the occasional sight.

Gary, Jon and Raoul, being rather better organised then the girls, were already well past the denial stage and were back to good, old fashioned terror. Jon, rather surprisingly, was in the worst state, since the object of his affection was, after all, supposed to be returning to her own mysterious country in the not-too-distant future; Gary, who was after all already betrothed to his love, was merely absolutely petrified of ever talking to her, seeing her, or having to carry on a coherent conversation with her ever again; and Raoul was _so_ quiet that nobody had any idea what was going on in his head.

Eventually, Jon said, "Do you think I should tell her?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Definitely."

"Oh." Silence, then, "Why don't you?"

"What, tell Sandry we love her?"

"NO! Tell Alanna and Cyth!"

"That we love them?" This from a bleary Raoul.

"Yes!"

"No."

"Oh, come on… How will you ever know if they feel the same?"

"Well," Said Gary thoughtfully, "I personally have roughly the rest of my life to work iit out with Alanna, and even I can tell that Cyth's in love with Raoul… So I think you're the one with the dilemma, here, Jon."

"Right. Good point." Miserably, the Crown Prince of Tortall covered his face with his hands.

"Do you really think Cyth's in love with me?" Asked Raoul anxiously. "I mean, she's never said…"

"Neither have you, you great pillock!"

"Alright, how's this." Suggested Gary thoughtfully. "There's a ball right after Aly's birthday, isn't there?"

"Oh, Mithros," Groaned Raoul, "Not another one."

Jon elbowed him. "You know you like them really." He said, grinning at his friends annoyance.

"Shut up." Said Gary firmly. "So, at this ball, we ask our Ladies to dance, and we tell them how we feel, alright?"

Raoul glared, massaging the spot where Jon had hit him. "It's alright for you." He pointed out tersely, "You're already betrothed, Aly isn't allowed to run away from you."

"As if that would stop her. Anyway, I'm serious. We have to tell them sometime!"

Jon met Raoul's doubtful eyes with a pair of his own. "I suppose…" The prince began uncertainly.

Raoul nodded. "If you're sure they feel the same…"

"They do!" Insisted Gary, more confidently then he felt. "My sources are very reliable."

"Oh yes?"

"Well, actually, Tris waylaid me and threatened to bury me alive in an earthquake and make it look like an accident if I didn't sort it out, because all these lovesick girls were getting on her nerves."

There was a pause while the other two digested this information. Then Jon said quickly, "Well, that sounds pretty reliable to _me_."

"Definitely." Agreed Raoul, picturing a sparking Tris in his mind and deciding very quickly not to argue. Gary smiled. In his mind he could already see Alanna, dressed to perfection, smiling up at him. He sighed, something he had always sworn he would never be such a sissy as to do when in love.

"Right," he said, straightening up and trying to sound brisk, "What're you all getting Aly for her birthday?"


	42. Chapter 42: Defining Love

**"I may speak in tongues of men and angels, but if I have no love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal. **

**I may have the gift of prophecy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge. I may have the faith to move mountains butif I have no, I am nothing. **

**I may give away everything I own, and hand my body over so that I may boast, but if I have no love, I gain nothing by it. **

**Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. **

**Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing.For we know partially and we prophesy partially, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away...**

****

**...Three things are eternal: faith, hope and love-and the greatest of the three is love."**

Gary was walking purposefully down the corridor, humming an old ditty to himself. He turned a sharp corner, passed the door to his own room, and threw open the one that led to Raoul's. The tall knight was sitting hunched over his desk, his quill scratching on a piece of parchment. Around the desk pieces of half-scrunched up paper were lying forlornly where they had been thrown. Brushing back a piece of hair with an irritable hand, Raoul glanced up. Gary was leaning against the door with his arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

"What are you _doing, _Raoul? Writing love poems to Cyth?"

Raoul glared at him. "Don't try to tell me you haven't been scribing to Alanna for the last three weeks. I know what state your room's in."

Gary shrugged. "At least I can _write _poetry."

Raoul snorted. Whacking him lightly round the air, Gary darted out and snatched a scrap of discarded parchment. Raoul lunged for it, but Gary leapt back in time to unfold the paper and read aloud,

" ' _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate._

Rough winds may shake the darling buds of May…' 

Bloody hell, Raoul!" Gary said, staring in shock at the poem in his hand, "Did you write this?"

"Of course not, you idiot!" Raoul snapped, brandishing his quill in a very threatening way.

"Oh, I didn't think so." Gary relaxed, grinning. "I'd hate to think you were going to desert us all and become a scholar."

"Me? No fear!"

"Eh, I couldn't see you in a deserted attic writing stories about imaginary people. Coming to lunch?"

They wandered off amiably down the corridor, still chatting vaguely away.

"Terribly boring people, writers."

"Oh, absolutely. No social lives. Not like you at _all."_

There was the sound of flash smacking flesh, and laughter echoing down the hall, and then they were gone.

The girls had taken their lunch out to the orchard, a supremely pleasant way to eat when you can control the weather and tell the fabric not to stain. The five of them were sitting in a little cluster in the middle of a gap In the trees, and were munching away quite contentedly on some roast duck.

And-just to make a change-they were talking about boys.

"It hardly seems fair." Cythera protested mildly, biting a piece off a bread rolll.

"Hmm?"

Cythera turned. Sandry rephrased her wordless question with unending patience.

"_What _doesn't seem fair, Cyth?"

"Well," said Cyth conversationally, "Here's you and me swooning hopelessly over Jon and Raoul, while Alanna, who is supposedly in love with Gary, is keeping utterly silent about er undying devotion, and Tris and Daja aren't in love at all!"

Alanna swatted Cythera vaguely with a napkin. "Just because some of us don't chatter constantly about it, doesn't mean we're not in love."

"Oh on, en," suggested Daja through a mouthful of apple pie, "Show us how much you love him."

"What kind of a question is that to ask?" Demanded Alanna. "Love is… love. You can't put it down with _words. _Words are just words."

Cythera shook her head. "You might not be able to express it all through words, but you can get the idea across!"

"Alright, then," Alanna said, in a voice that was as close to a vocal glare is it could be without coming out of her eyeballs, "Tell me what love is."

As Cythera opened her mouth, Alanna interrupted, "On second thoughts, don't. I know the way you go on with your ancient poets."

Daja, who was watching with a faint smile hovering on her lips, suggested, "The white traders-those of my people who carry goods over land-have a song they sing at weddings about love. It is very beautiful." Her white teeth flashed in a grin. "It is the first song we learn as children."

Tris sat up, as fascinated as ever with the workings of another culture. "You never told me that." She accused.

"Daja shrugged equitably. "You never asked."

"Will you sin it for us?" Sandry wanted to know. "You have quite a nice voice, you know."

Daja blushed slightly, but glanced questioningly and Aly and Cyth. The two Tortallans nodded encouragingly. Opening her mouth wide, the Trader-girl began,

Who can say 

_Where the road goes_

_Where the day flows_

_-only time_

_And who can say_

_If your love grows_

_As your heart chose_

_-only time_

_Who can say_

_Why your heart sighs_

_As your love flies _

_-only time_

_and__ who can say _

_Why your heart cries _

_When you love dies_

_-only time_

_Who can say _

_Where the roads meet_

_That love might be_

_In your heart_

_And who can say_

_When the day sleeps_

_That the night keeps_

_All your heart_

_Night keeps all your heart_

_Who can say_

_If your love grows_

_As your heart chose_

_-only time_

_And who can say where the road goes_

_Where the day flows_

_-only time_

_Who knows-only time_

_Who knows-only time…._

The last note faded slowly, as Daja's low, clear contralto voice died away. After a moment she said quietly, "It sounds better in my tongue. That was a translation we use for non-traders. But it is still beautiful, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes." Agreed Cythera, still quietly, as though speaking too loud might tear the fragile air apart. "It is very beautiful."

There was a consensus of nods. Daja smiled with pride in her people.

Tris started speaking, just loudly enough to puncture the fragile atmosphere. The quiet, strumming tension in the group dissipated.

"Do you know," the weather-mage began, toying with the tassels on the edge of the picnic rug, "I was brought up to think that traders were evil?"

Daja laughed. "Right back at you, merchant-girl."

Sandry grinned. Turning to a confused pair of Tortallans, she explained, "Traders and merchants-that's Daja and Tris,- traditionally hate each other. I had my work cut out getting them past that."

Daja rolled her eyes, grinning. "That's Sandry," She teased, "Always seeing the best in people."

"You say it as if it's a bad thing!" Shot back Sandry, sticking her tongue out.

Aly and Cyth looked at each other.

They couldn't help it.

They burst out laughing.


	43. Chapter 43: Alright, own up

**Speak of the gods as they are. **

**Author: Walter Bagehot**

High above the peak of Balor's needle, gathering again amongst the silver clouds, the Gods were talking.

Very, very loudly.

In fact, they were making so much noise that the only way peace was finally made was when Faithful and his friend Queenclaw walked over to Mithros' leg and-for want of a more elegant word-bit him.

Hard.

The resulting shout was _so_ loud that people all across Tortall looked around for some lightening to go with it.

The Great Mother Goddess sighed, picked up the two cats, and sat down. A glaring Mithros took his set next to her. Passing Faithful to him and stroking Queenclaw with one white hand, the goddess glared around the room.

"Alright," She said, in a mezzo-soprano voice that embodied suspicious mothers and wives everywhere, "I want whoever is behind this to stand up _right now._"

There was a general shuffling of feet, and two figures rose out of the seething mass of deities. The Mother raised her eyebrows.

"Gainel? I am surprised at you." The God of Dreams met her eye firmly. To her surprise, the Goddess found herself looking away first. She busied herself with the other figure. It was that of a woman, tall and slim, and clad in a white dress with red embroidery.

Of course. They were everywhere these days. Every time one of the Gods took a fancy to a mortal, suddenly she was a Goddess. And everywhere needed a Goddess of Love. There had been at least thirty of the girls at the last count. Of course, it meant the God and the new Goddess had to stay put for a while, but what was a few years to an immortal?

This one, the Goddess believed, was called Haraille. The Lady of the Roses, worshipped by about twenty people.

Red and White roses.

Of course, The Mother had always had her marked out as a troublemaker. She had an unerring sense for these things.

"And what, precisely" She enquired frostily, "Did you think you were doing? You knew that, ah, Lady Sandrilene belonged back in Emelan, yet you deliberately made her fall in love with the Prince of Tortall, no less! I'm surprised you managed it at all!"

The 'Lady of the Roses' shrugged. "I did what I thought was best." She said coolly. "They needed each other."

_Impertinence._ Thought the Mother icily.

"And I suppose _you, _who have been a Goddess for all of three centuries, are an _expert _on what is 'right'?"

The temperature in the starry hall dropped abruptly Several of the lesser Gods drew back. For a moment there was silence.

Then to a chorus of amazement, a third figure stepped forward. It was Shakith, of course. They had all grown to know her figure well in the past weeks. Her voice, when it came, seemed drier then usual, as though she had been worn out-worn deeply to the bone.

"Do not blame the Rose-Lady, Great Mother. She acted on the impulse of Fate, who guides us all. It was destined that this should come to pass." She spread her frail arms wide. "For weeks I have striven to See the future. I have used every method my knowledge stretches to. I have watched the birds and perceived the very movement of leaves, and when I found the answer, I did not stop looking. For it seemed to me too strange-to me, I who have seen empires overthrown a thousand times and never blinked- that so much should rest upon the choice of one child."

The Great Mother frowned. "You speak complained childishly. "Will you not tell us what you speak of?"

Shakith sighed. "Only this, Great Mother; that if the Lady Sandrilene stays in Tortall, then all of her companions will also have cause to stay; for they too have grown to love these lands. And if they stay, then their actions over the years that are to come will change this world so greatly that it will seem strange even to we who have watched it over millennia. That much is clear, even to one who has no eyes."

There was a very, very long silence, while each of the Gods tried to work out what Shakith had just said. It took some of them quite a long time. Folding her arms, the Great Mother translated, "Our sister Shakith _says_ that if Sandry stays, the world will be changed."

There was an outbreak of pandemonium. It took several more scratches from the cats before silence was finally restored.

"That's ridiculous!" There came a voice from the back of the hall. The Great Mother glared. "Clearly," She said tersely, "Whoever is controlling all this hasn't got much imagination. Nevertheless," She raised her chin even higher, "We _cannot _interfere any further, so if I find some much of a sniff of any of you playing around…"

There was a general chorus of quick agreement-most of them had seen what the Mother was capable of, and Tris Chandler just wasn't in it- and the two cats jumped of the chairs and strolled away, tails held high. The Gods considered this a signal for a tea-break, and the meeting dispersed.


	44. Chapter 44: Picnic time!

It was early in the morning of Alanna's birthday. The Lioness herself was out on the practice courts, sparring with the boys. In her absence, the other girls had gathered in Sandry's room to compare final notes for the afternoon's picnic.

Cythera, as official President of the Random Picnic Association, had commandeered the armchair; Sandry got the desk chair, and the others were reclining on the four-poster. Cyth was holding a neatly scribed list up, and was examining it with intense scrutiny.

"Right," She said decisively, "Daja, have you sorted out the food?"

Daja nodded dutifully, trying not to laugh. You'd never have thought it to look at her, but Cyth the hopeless, daydreaming romantic was a born organizer- of other people, anyway, even if she couldn't keep her own desk tidy. Cythera continued inexorably, "Tris, you sorted out transport?"

Tris rolled her eyes. "I borrowed a donkey, Cyth. I'd hardly call it 'sorting out transport'.

Cythera of Elden glared at her. "Did you or didn't you?"

Tris sighed, with an air of sufferance, and assured Cythera that she had. A slightly mollified President of the Random Picnic Association continued, "Sandry, you sorted out invitations?"

Peacemaker admirably refrained from pointing out that yelling at the boys to come to a picnic didn't _exactly _come under the heading of invitations, especially when tey would have invited themselves anyway, the greedy pigs, and merely nodded.

"Right," Said Cythera, clearly in her element and oblivious to the rest of the world, "Let's pack the stuff up."

Officially, of course, Alanna didn't know about the picnic, but since pretty much everyone involved, including Cyth herself, was completely incapable of keeping a secret, she had in fact found out within a day. The one point the others _had _held their peace on, despite all of Alanna's pestering, were the presents; they were to be presented at the picnic, and that was that. Thus Alanna, out on thew courtyard with the boys, was practically humming with excited adrenaline; she had grown to adore presents, or at least the good ones. At the Convent, Cyth had always got her some kind of weapon, knowing how much she yearned for them; any other trinkets she received from some passing acquaintance had hardly been worth bothering with. Now the prospect of at least eight presents was hovering in the air, and every one of them promised to be brilliant. Sandry, for example, had been very quiet over the last few days.

Once it was clear that even sparring for twenty minutes with Gary- rather difficult, since she had to concentrate on what he was doing and not be distracted by the interesting way his chest moved- was not going to dull her energy, the news was passed out that everything was packed up and ready to go. The message was relayed via Briar, who had been teaching Jon street fighting over on the other side of the courtyard. Actually whooping with delight, Alanna sheathed her sword in the middle of a duel-something she had been told at least a thousand times to stop doing- and dashed off towards the stables.

They had been eating for half an hour. This was not to say they had been _there _for half an hour; not, this was after about an hour of riding, unpacking, setting out, sitting down, decided that bit over there looked comfier, realizing that somebody was sitting there, brushing the ants out of Cythera's dress and trying to stop the trees growing around Briar. In the centre of the group sat Alanna, grinning like an idiot and surrounded by pie, notoriously her favorite food. Unfortunately the kitchen had forgotten to label which pie was which, leading to the dessert being eaten before the starter, but Cythera had insisted that his added to the fun. The boys were still eating as if they had never seen pastry before, despite the fact that they had already eaten a hamperful of pies between them. Everyone else, however, seemed to be flagging.

Cythera the ever-vigilant, however, was watching everyone like a hawk and had the art of timing down to perfection. Clapping her hands together, she proclaimed, "_PRESENT TIME!"_

In the tree above her, several birds took flight. Alanna squealed. The boys looked at Cythera imploringly, but there was no mercy in her green eyes, and the put down their pies reluctantly.

Settling herself back against the tree, Alanna grinned. "Who first?" She wanted to know, holding her hands out. For a moment, there was a complete hubbub as everyone tried to get the person on their left to do it. After a moment, Daja agreed, and produced a little parcel wrapped in white linen. Trying not to rip the cloth in glee, it took Alanna a minute to unwrap it. When she did, though, she had to catch her breath with wonder.

The young smith-mage had produced a dagger of shining steel with a bronze hilt. The designs on the bronze were evenly embossed, so that leather could be comfortably wrapped around it, and the steel was as sharp as Alanna had ever felt. It was light enough to be thrown, and small enough to be acceptably worn in a Lady's sash, but could be used at close range as well. Running her thumb lovingly over the crosspiece, Alanna noticed the design on the hilt.

A rampant cat.

"It's a Lioness." Daja explained, reaching over to touch it. "it won't lose that edge for years, and then it will sharpen again easily."

Alanna, on an impulse, flung her arms around her friend. "It's lovely." She said, with a warm smile. "Thank you."

Not to be outdone, a grinning Jon and Raoul produced a matching shield; a Lioness rampant emblazoned on the front. Though she knew she might never be able to use it in battle, Alanna felt tears coming to her eyes. "Next year," Jon joked, grinning at her, "you get the armor."

Cythera produced a set of jewelry; earrings, ring, necklace, bracelet and circlet. "In case you forget you're a girl." She said mischievously, wrapping her arms around her best friend.

Tris brought forth a volume on female warriors; Briar a complete set of lockpicks, which he assured her never failed to come in handy. Sandry produced a woven tapestry of a female warrior in black armor, leaning on her sword. At last only Gary remained, and she turned expectantly towards him, her heart thudding. What could she possibly expect from him?

Nothing, it seemed, that he could give her in front of the others; for he leapt up, took he by the wrist, and pulled her out of the glade, ignoring the catcalls and whoops from the others. Weaving amongst the trees for a little way, they came to another, smaller glade. Blinking and laughing breathlessly, Alanna looked around.

Her jaw dropped.

Standing in front of them was one of the young stable boys from the palace, holding the prettiest mare Alanna had ever seen. Milky cream in colour, with a golden shine to her mine, the stood tossing her head and nickering softly. Alanna turned back to Gary, astonished; he smiled down at her. With a nod dismissing the stable boy, he pulled her towards the horse and started stroking the mare's mane.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" He asked, trying not to show how fast his heart was racing. "I got her from the Bazhir traders. Her name's Moonlight. She's all yours."

"Gary, you… I can't…"

Neighing gently, the horse leant down and licked Alanna's neck. The Lioness, silenced, laughed and stroked the sand-coloured beauty. Glancing back up at her betrothed, she smiled. "Thank you, Gary."

They stood there for a moment, neither quite daring to speak. Then, as if some strange external impulse were guiding him, Gary slowly brought his lips down to meet hers.

As they separated, he murmured softly, "Aly, I need to tell you something."

"Hmm?"

"I was going to tell you at the ball, but… Aly, I love you."

It was a perfect moment. Even the wind that shook the upper branches fell silent, and however clichéd it might seem, Alanna swore that in that time, and in that place, the world stood still.

It occurred to her, as she pressed her lips to his, that clichés, after all, had to start somewhere. Quietly she intertwined her fingers with his, and murmured softly, "I love you, too."

They walked back slowly, leading Moonlight, with their fingers still laced together. As they rejoined the others, Raoul leant over surreptitiously to Jon.

"Just the two of us confessing at the ball then, you reckon?"

"Looks like it."


	45. Chapter 45: Halfmoon Ball

The girls were crowded together again in Alanna's room, desperately trying to get ready in time for the ball. The morning hunt had left them all tired but happy, and had only been Cythera remembering about the evening's entertainment at the last minute that had saved them. As it was, they were still sorely pressed for time.

Sandry was busily running around tweaking everyone's dresses and straightening creases; Daja, with the help of a maid, was trying to finish all the fastenings of her gown; and Cythera was trying to explain the complexities of hair arrangement to a mulish Alanna.

"Last time, you told me to have it up!" Protested the Lioness, holding her fiery locks down protectively. Cythera sighed.

"That was an entrance ball, you had to look mature. This is the last ball before your wedding, you're supposed to be celebrating your youth! Leave it _down! _And for the Mother's sake, leave the bloody dagger behind!"

"That dagger took me three weeks." Commented Daja, trying to breathe as the maid tightened her corset.

Cythera spluttered. "Daja, you know I _adore _the _dagger,_ but I really don't think…"

"Oh, hush, Cyth." Said Alanna mildly. "now do me a favour and help me with my earrings."

Tris, who was having trouble with her sash, yelled irritably, "Sandry, give me a hand?"

The long-suffering Sandrilene moved over to her foster sister, stepped back, and twitched a finger. The sash adjusted itself obediently. Turning to Alanna, Sandry groaned, "I don't know how you can be so _calm, _Aly."

The chorus came from every mouth in the room-except the maid, woho burst into giggles. "She's already betrothed!"

Aly grinned, tucking her hair behind her eay to display the gold-and-ruby whorl studs Cyth had got her for her birthday. Picking up the final item-the circlet- from the dresser, she set it carefully on the curls. Smiling at her friend's reflection in the mirror- Alanna looked lovely, if not conventionally so- Cythera turned to Tris.

"Isn't there _any _way you can take it out of the braids?" She asked wistfully. "You'd be really pretty if you just let your hair down and smiled, you know."

Tris regarded her with disbelieving eyes. "Do you _want _an earthquake? Anyway, you're the one in love! Why aren't you as nervous as Sandry?"

"I try to keep my mind of things," Cythera said dryly. She didn't fool anyone; her voice was shaking. "Are we all done?"

Sandry tweaked her dress one more time and smiled. "I am."

"Me too."

"Me three."

"Me four."

The maid tugged at Daja one last time, then tied the lacing with nimble fingers and stepped back. The trader, unused to such restrictions, placed a hand on her chest and croaked, "Me five."

Cythera nodded, trying not to tremble. "Let's go."

Cyth and Sandry would wonder afterwards why it seemed so natural to be nervous that night. They had, after all, been to plenty of balls since they had arrived in Corus, even several since they feel in love. Maybe it was something in the air that night. The sun had set early as the days shortened, and the stars were blazing around a half moon.

Maybe it was the moon, teetering on an unknowing brink. A moon like that, hovering between new and full-why, a moon like that could do anything.

But Sandry in gold, and Cythera white and blue, descended down the steps together shaking like rabbits. It seemed…. Only natural.

Gary headed straight for Alanna, dressed for the occasion in her customary forest green. He had never liked the colour quite so before he met her. Reaching out for her yielding hand, he pulled her straight on to the dance floor.

Alanna whirled around more then willingly with her betrothed. The steps seemed to come easier to her mind when she danced with him. He was dressed in red and gold, and looked as princely, to Alanna's mind, as Jon ever had. She stretched up to listen as he bent down to tell her something.

So. Sandry and Cyth had good reason to be nervous. Tonight, under a half moon; very apt, Alanna thought, for confessions of love.

Tris, Daja and Briar stood together beneath the vaulted roof, in one of the corners where they could see everything. Already their friends had paired off; Jon and Raoul had swept their respective ladies away.

"About bloody time too." Tris murmured under her breath. Daja laughed. All around them, the music played on.

Cythera's heart was racing. Her mind, against all logic, was speeding back to all those heroines she had lived her life through for years. Just so their saviours would spin and catch them on the tiled floor; just so would their hair fly out from their shoulders, creating a disc whose lifetime was a single breath. To her, Raoul was everything those heroes had been; strong, caring, sweet… And the man she loved. The dance was speeding up; they flew faster, faster still, and Cythera had never been so glad that she had paid attention in dancing. She knew Raoul must be hating it-he despised balls so- but in is arms she had never felt more free.

One final clap-and the beat was gone, leaving only thudding hears to commemorate it. Raoul, instead of relinquishing her hand, clasped it tighter, and pulled silently towards the balcony. Cythera followed, shaking in her mind like a leaf in a hurricane, or the frail butterfly unprepared for the winds that were blowing it away. He swept the rich velvet aside easily and pulled her out into the cold night air. The breeze hit her face like an icy slap, but she was so warm inside that she barely felt it. What could Raoul possibly be going to say to her?

But it seemed he wasn't in the mood for talking, because he merely-merely?-bent down and kissed her.

She realised that all those books she had read over the years hadn't prepared her for the _half _of what she was feelign now-of what she felt for this man towering above her, redening akwardlyy. When he spoke, it seemed as though she could already here the triumphant choruses, for all that his voice was husky an dcame out croaking. She had never heard anything sweeter.

"Um… I love you." He murmured, looking down at her. The perfect hero.

Her hero.

Cythera reached up with one cold hand and brushed back the lock of hair-the same lock that always fell forward when he leant down.

"I love you too, silly." She murmured, and the wind carried her voice silently to every corner of the earth.

Tris watched with satisfaction as they emerged from the balcony, both white from the cold but smiling. The redhead adjusted her glasses. And muttered to the others, "One down, one to go."

Jon had never been so terrified in his entire life. Scanrans and Carthakis he could handle, bit this woman in his arms with the adorably small nose and the powerful eyes made him want to run far, far away. Or, to be specific, the thought of the lady in his arms hating him was terrifying him. The lady herself just made him want to stare at her for a while. Say, a few centuries.

He wasn't supposed to be doing this, he knew. He was vaguely aware that he ought to marry for politics, but after all, she was foreign, which probably made it political anyway. Besides, he was in love with her, which he considered a mitigating circumstance. He watched out of the corner f one eye as Raoul emerged successful, Cyth hanging on his arm.

Oh, well. It was now or never. But blast if he was going to announce it to the world just yet. There was such a thing as subtlety. Trying to summon up an air of confident, handsome roguishness, he leant down to Sandry's ear and whispered as surreptitiously as he could, "I love you."

It was to Sandry's credit that she only missed one step. Twirling quickly to keep up, she stretched up to his ear as soon as the music would allow, she whispered, "I love you, too."

Subtlety be damned. He stopped abruptly in mid step, grasped Sandry by waist, and kissed her.

Properly.

Raoul, watching with his arm around Cythera, rolled his eyes. "Show-off." He muttered.

When they finally separated, the music had ground to an astonished halt, and everyone in the hall was staring at him. Several groups of girls had burst into tears.

Sandry grinned up at him. "Show-off."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Hardly."

"Good. Will you marry me?"

Sandry blinked. She was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to go like this.

What the hell.

"Yes."

Jon smiled delightedly down at her. "Say it again?"

Sandry laughed, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, and repeated herself.

"Yes, Jon, I will marry you."

There was an outcry. Twenty or so girls starting wailing in misery; there was a flood of cheers; and the orchestra, whose conductor had seen it all before, struck up a jubilatory fanfare.

In the corner of the room, Raoul looked down art Cythera hopefully.

"Uhh… What he said?"

Cythera glared. "Raoul of Goldenlake, do it _properly_.

Groaning, Raoul laboriously got down on one knee."Cythera of Elden, will you do me the honour of becoming my Lady?" He asked, striking a dramatic pose. Cythera chuckled gaily.

"How can I resist those eyes? Certainly, my Lord!"

Next to them, Alanna elbowed Gary. "I don't recall you proposing to _me_ like that." She complained, glaring up at him. Gary rolled his eyes affectionately.

"Women." He complained jokingly.

Turning smugly to her friends, Tris declared, "Two marriages arranged. Not bad, even if I do say so myself."

And, true to the spirit of siblinghood and friendship, Daja and Briar noticeably did not ask what exactly she had had to do with it.


	46. Epilogue

Note: All the songs in this story are by Enya and do not belong to me.

The wedding was a remarkably complicated affair, partly because the brides had insisted they all be married together and partly because royal weddings _were_. It six months to be arranged, a ridiculously short time, and was held at the spring equinox of the next year. The other reason it was complicated was because each of the brides insisted on having the other two, plus Tris and Daja, as their Bridesmaids-and the each of the grooms insisted on having the others as their Best Men. Oh, and Alanna and Tris had nobody to give them away, since Aly refused to have her father do it, so Briar had to do it for all of them. It would go down in history as the strangest wedding ever.

Nevertheless, it was beautiful.

The reception, of course, was huge; the whole of the palace had been turned over to the festival, and of course the day was declared a national holiday. There were, Aly considered, certain benefits to getting married at the same ceremony as Tortall's crown prince.

It was the announcement afterwards, though, that really surprised everyone-everyone except Sandry, that is, because she simply knew her foster-family too well. Lark informed the whole of a delighted Tortall that all of them would be saying on in Tortall-'to make sure Sandry behaved herself' as she put it.

And-after a while-the sun set. And then it rose again, and the world hadn't changed. Not one bit.

And in another world, the sun still set, and rose again. And that world too, had not changed-except that a few lonely people had cried themselves to sleep.

All choices are difficult, but sometimes the hardest ones are the most important. In the end, all of them found what they were looking for.

_Once, as my heart remembers, _

_All the stars were fallen embers._

_Once, when night seemed forever, _

_I was with you. _

_Once, in the care of morning_

_In the air was all belonging. _

_Once, when that day was dawning_

_I was with you._

_How far we are from morning_

_How far we are_

_And the stars shining through the darkness _

_Falling in the air_

_Once, as the night was leaving_

_Into us our dreams were weaving._

_Once, all dreams were worth keeping, _

_I was with you_

_Once, when our hearts were singing _

_I was with you. _


	47. Who wants a sequel?

Hello there everybody! This is Lady Sandry, back from the dead and looking over her old stuff.

Now, this is what's happening. I've been looking over this stuff and, frankly, I've learnt a lot more since I wrote this. I can write stuff now that's ten times better than this story. And now I have an urge to do some Tamora Pierce fanficcing, and I was wondering if there would be any interest in me doing a sequel to this story. The main theme woulkd be Tris/George, and it would probably be about the same length. What do you think? Can I get some feedback on this? Please review! Note that if I get ten reviews in the positive, I promise I will write this thing; and, furthermore, since the form of the story is pretty fluid right now, I promise to take into account any and all suggestions I get. So let the feedback roll in, guys! I'm counting on you!


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